After the Mat
by daccu65
Summary: Fourth in my To the Mat Stories. After the contest on Senior's Island, Kim and Ron prepare for college. What odd twists will the world throw their way?
1. Chapter 1

_Let's take care of some legal and convenience matters before you get into the story. I do not own Kim Possible or any of the other characters from the Kim Possible TV series. I don't know who does, only that I don't. This story is not written for profit but merely the enjoyment gained by telling a story. _

_This story is the fourth in my 'To the Mat' series. As such, if you have not read the previous three (Ron Goes to the Mat, Back to the Mat, Farewell to the Mat) there will be some plot twists that catch you by surprise. _

_Big thanks to Joe Stoppinghem for taking time to beta for me, even at the expense of his own writing. _

_Now, please enjoy the story:_

* * *

Chapter 1:

Trudy Dementor wasn't used to her father summoning her to his office. While the mad professor was a ruthless, would-be world conqueror, he was a doting father. As such, Trudy was more accustomed to her father asking her to visit him in his office as opposed to demanding her presence. She wondered if her father would heap some sort of punishment upon her for not winning the recent 'marry Senior Senior Junior' contest. While her father hadn't really approved of her entering the contest, once she did, he expected her to win it. Still for as nervous as she was, she was the epitome of calm and collected compared to her personal guard, Hendle.

Hendle was sweating bullets as he strode next to her. The professor had demanded both of them and Hendle hadn't forgotten that he had caused Trudy to be eliminated from the contest when the eventual winner, Camille Leon, played him. While the professor had already assured the man that he held no animosity towards him for his actions, even giving the man a raise, the mad scientist's moods were as inconsistent as ever. As such, Hendle could easily be facing either a round of thanks, simple reassignment, or a gruesome death.

"Relax," Trudy instructed him. "If papa was going to do anything to you, he wouldn't warn you first."

"You never know," the big man muttered. "While the professor was happy with how easily he escaped his latest imprisonment, his inability to relocate the Pan Dimensional Vortex Inducer has given him a worse hair-trigger than usual."

"True," Trudy agreed. "It's a good thing that his stomach problems cleared up about the same time his songbird escaped, otherwise he would be even worse. He really enjoyed that little bird. Maybe Henchco will send him another one with his next order."

"I'm not worried about the bird," Hendle rumbled back. "Your father is a very intelligent man but he can sometimes figure out cutting edge physics issues faster than he can figure out day-to-day sort of things. By now, he's probably realized that if you had won the contest, you could have influenced Senior to free up enough wealth to fund his creating a new inducer. So, in a way, he might blame me for his inability to play with alternate dimensions."

Trudy frowned when she couldn't argue with the man's logic. While she admired her father, she had to admit that his mind worked in erratic ways. She also had to admit that he was notoriously "short tempered" (a term that was never used in his hearing). While he was actually a very good employer, as far as villainous, mad-scientists went, he _was_ both a villain and a mad scientist so his displeasure tended to exhibit itself in unique, noisy and unpleasant ways.

It didn't take long, far too short in Hendle's opinion, to reach the secure door separating the professor's private quarters from the remainder of the lair. The door opened as the two approached; clearly the professor was waiting for them. Trudy led the way into her father's office, hearing a gulp from Hendle as he followed her.

Men's offices tended to reflect their owners' personality. A former military man might fill his office with military paraphernalia while an athlete would probably fill his with his trophies. True to form, Professor Dementor's office looked more like a research laboratory than a place to conduct routine business. While the mad scientist had a desk, it was a utilitarian piece of furniture, tucked into a corner with a few uncomfortable chairs. The remainder of the room, and the comfortable chairs, were devoted to the various workstations and experimental stations where the man spent the majority of his time. Professor Dementor glanced up from his computer and gestured his guests towards the desk.

"Ah, you are here," he exclaimed, settling into his chair behind his desk. "Be seated, both of you."

Trudy took her seat immediately but her guardian looked reluctant to leave his feet.

"Be seated, Hendle," the professor commanded. "If I choose to harm you, standing will not help you!"

For a moment, Hendle looked ready to remain standing. Realizing that he was already in the lion's den, he shrugged his shoulders and lowered his backside to the waiting piece of furniture. Trudy noted that the man kept his legs tense, as if he were ready to spring to his feet at the slightest provocation.

"Very well, now perhaps we can talk," the professor began, giving Hendle a hard look. "I want to talk about when the two of you were tricked out of the contest by Fraulein Leon." The mad scientist frowned for a moment. "Of course she is now Frau Senior. No matter! She was Fraulein Leon at the time so I will refer to her as such. Now, what was I saying?"

"You were asking us about when Leon tricked Hendle into attacking her, papa," Trudy pointed out. Hendle gave the young woman a look that was half anger, half fear.

"Relax, Hendle," Dementor told the man. "I'm not about to punish you for being overprotective of my daughter. Now, I want to ask you about the Fraulein's mass."

"What?" Hendle asked, clearly confused.

"Her weight, you nincompoop!" Dementor shrieked at the cringing man. "When she was disguised Fraulein Minated's guardian, did she weigh as much as a skinny little girl, or as much as a burly bodyguard?"

"She, or he, weighed about what he should have," Hendle answered, after a moment's thought. "I tackled him…her…as hard as I could. I've knocked other henchmen off of their feet by using that move in the gym. If she…he…weighed as much as that skinny little girl, he…she…would have been sent flying. Instead, she…he…"

"Just say 'she' you fool!"

"Okay, she and I tumbled to the ground so yes, she weighed about what the guy she was disguised as should have weighed."

"How about her strength? Was she as strong as her alternate form suggested."

"I can't say for sure," Hendle answered, scratching at his chin. "But she seemed very unskilled when I grappled her. I was expecting to tangle with someone just as tough as me but I got the upper hand much faster than I thought I would. Wait a minute! I can remember her lifting me off of her for a short time so yes, she was stronger when she was in her disguise."

"Very good," Dementor seemed much calmer. "Now, what can you tell me about the Fraulein's temperature? Did she become hotter when she reverted to her true body?"

"I can't really say," Hendle murmured, clearly embarrassed by the memory of suddenly finding himself tangled up with the former heiress. "If she was hotter than normal, it wasn't by very much."

"Now, this is where you can help as well, my dear," Dementor continued. "I want both of you to tell me if you remember an sort of light, or darkness, manifesting when the Fraulein resumed her normal form."

Both Hendle and Trudy shook their heads.

"There was nothing like that, papa," Trudy assured her father. "Why do you ask?"

"I will tell you in a moment," the professor assured his daughter. "Hendle, return to your duties. You will tell nobody about the questions I asked you this day, understood?"

"Completely," the big man assured his employer, all but leaping to his feet and sprinting to the door. Clearly, Hendle was relieved to get away from the professor.

"What was all that about?" Trudy demanded, once her bodyguard was gone. "Do you just enjoy scaring him?"

"Oh, allow me a little fun, my dear little Fraulein," Dementor grinned at his daughter. "But something has been bothering me about Frau Senior for some time and it was only today that I worked out what it was."

"What's so special about that little tart?" Trudy sniffed. "She's foolish and spoiled! If it wasn't for her shapeshifting, she'd be nothing."

"Ah, but there may be much more to her shapeshifting than you might think. Tell me, Trudy, what does the Law of Conservation of Mass and Energy tell us about her transforming herself?"

"That law states that the mass/energy combination in any closed system must remain fixed," Trudy shrugged. "But I don't see what that has to do with Leon's form changing."

"Wouldn't you call her own body a closed system?"

"Of course not! She, like everyone else, is constantly inhaling, exhaling, eating, drinking and…well… let's just say that the human body isn't a closed system."

"That's true...over time," her father pointed out. "But at any given moment, a human body has only limited energy/mass transfer with the outside world. Now, what do my questions to Hendle tell you about where I'm going with all of this."

"You ascertained that Leon lost mass, a considerable amount of it," Trudy replied, her keen, analytical mind kicking in.

"So where did this mass go?"

"I don't know," Trudy admitted. "That's why you were asking about temperature and light! The mass couldn't have been transferred to energy, at least not that amount of mass, since the energy output would have been…extreme."

"Very good, continue."

"Okay, there's always the possibility that the mass could have been converted to an undetectable form of energy, but that seems unlikely. Energy output doesn't work on that narrow of a bandwidth. After all, even high-efficiency light sources produce _some_ heat. Much like this, if Leon had converted several kilograms of mass into energy, even an undetectable form, there should have been detectable by-products, like heat and/or light."

"Excellent, continue to postulate!"

"Knowing that Camille Leon…er…Senior…is either converting mass into energy or she's transferring mass between two points brings up additional questions: If she's transferring mass between two points, where is this second point? If she's converting mass into and back from energy, what form of energy is she using?"

"Almost done, finish off the hypothesis while taking the practical considerations into account."

"Very well, papa. I see you as adding a second level of questioning into this mystery: can I harness this process? You want to know if you can make use of the mass transfer, or the energy."

"Almost complete," Dementor grinned with the great pride a techno-villain feels when his daughter grasps potential for mayhem. "And most impressive for just a few minutes of deduction. I'm actually asking several more questions: First, if Leon is transferring mass to and from another location, does she even know where this second point is at? Secondly, if this is the case, can she transfer other objects along with her body mass? Thirdly, can she alter this other point's location and finally, is this second point in this reality?"

"You think she might be piercing dimensional boundaries with her shapeshifting?"

"I cannot discount the possibility," the professor's grin was absolutely predatory. "She may be a biological version of the Pan Dimensional Vortex Inducer. However, this is assuming that she's transferring mass. If she is somehow converting mass into energy, I have other questions: Can this mystery energy form be harnessed in some manner? Can she alter the form of energy, producing large amounts of heat, light, magnetism, electricity, or other forms? Finally, can she choose the energy source to draw from, such as draining a power grid?"

"I did not realize that the Frau had such…potential," Trudy grumbled. "Too bad there are no answers to your questions."

"There aren't at this moment," Dementor admitted, with a broad grin directed her way. "Finding the answers is only a matter of research and observation. That's where you come in."

"I think I sense an assignment coming my way."

"Indeed you do, my daughter. I charge you with bringing Camille Senior to this very lair, so that I can both question her and study her."

"I don't think I'm going to be able to overcome Senior's security measures," Trudy protested.

"I'm not telling you to do this immediately," the professor corrected her, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Like you said before, she's spoiled and vain. Sooner or later, she'll leave the island to attend a concert, shop, go to a party, or one of the many other 'young, rich adult' things that she has always done. You, Trudy, are pretty enough and at the proper age that you will be able to fit into her…what do you call it…scene. I don't care how you do it, but you will bring the little airhead here. Nobody must know where she is. You, my daughter, will gain your revenge over her by turning her into my very own laboratory rat."

* * *

"So, did you and Ron manage to get frisky while you were away?"

"Mon!" Kim gasped, giving the store a quick lookover to make sure nobody had overheard the question.

"Chillax, girlfriend," Monique snickered. "The mall won't open for another hour. The only ones in this store are the two of us and the only one in the hallways is the security guard. He's down at the other end of the mall so you're free to spill. How'd it go?"

While Kim made some pretense of glaring at her best, female friend, she was actually relieved that Monique had brought up the topic. She really wanted to dish about the very frustrating time on Senior's Island but didn't feel close enough to her mother to talk to her. Looking around occasionally, confirming that they were the only people in Club Banana, she told Monique about the mission's last two nights. Monique, of course, collapsed into a fit of helpless laughter.

"So not funny, Mon," Kim protested, hauling an armload of blouses out of the storage room and onto the sales floor.

"Chill, girl. Of course it's funny!" Monique grabbed a load of jeans and matched her friend's pace. "If I would have told you something like that, you'd be giggling like mad."

"Okay, fine, it's kind of funny," Kim admitted. "It had me grinding my teeth in frustration, but it's kind of funny."

"There you go. Now, have the two of you managed to take care of business since you got back?"

"Haven't had the chance," Kim grumbled. "The week we got back, four different investigative committees grilled us about what we knew about Mr. Loward. If we hadn't been on that island, looking for Felix, things could have really been bad."

"I take it some of the bigwigs are looking for blood?"

"THAT'S putting it mildly. Nobody seems to be gunning for me or Ron, thank God, but a lot of them are looking to use us as a club to clobber political rivals."

"They couldn't have taken up all of your time," Monique pointed out. "I'm sure that sitting through the trash talking was frustrating, the kind of frustration that would make the two of you want to work out some tensions."

"Mon! The Fed's put us up in a secure hotel, and guarded us while we were testifying, to make sure that nobody tried to influence our reports. It's kind of hard to sneak across the hall at night when there's a shade-wearing blacksuit standing right outside your door. The closest we came was sparring every morning. When we got back, Ron wanted to spend some time with Felix, since he's feeling lonely for Yori."

"Which freed me up to spend more time with Matt," Monique nodded. "Okay, that took care of your first week back, what about last week?"

"Ron's 'rents insisted that he go with them on the family vacation," Kim grumbled.

"And he didn't invite you?" Monique looked shocked. "That's awfully harsh!"

"Oh, he invited me," Kim informed her friend and, as long as they were on the clock in Club Banana, her boss. "But his 'rents and mine both shot the idea down. Ron's 'rents wanted to have one, last family vacation, with just their family while my 'rents wanted me to spend some time with my uncle and cousin."

"I forgot about that, you have relatives here from Montana. Didn't you say something about him being here to help with some of the Space Center's newest planetary probes?"

"Yeah, he's a robotics expert so he's actually here on the Space Center's budget. Their accountant is actually a little frustrated because he and Joss are staying with us. That makes it kind of hard to itemize expenses."

"Isn't Felix's mother the Space Center's robotics expert?"

"Sort of," Kim answered. "She specializes in very precise, precision robotics and control systems. Slim has a knack for brute power and reliability. The two of them are spending an awful lot of time with their heads together. That's part of the reason my 'rents didn't let me go on vacation with Ron, with Joss hanging with the tweebs, all sorts of trouble could crop up if someone doesn't keep an eye on them."

"That's probably why your guy spent some extra time with Felix," Monique commented. "Wheels is feeling lonely enough without his GF around, now that his mother has so much on her plate, he's feeling even more alone. I hope you can understand that."

"Yeah, I can," Kim nodded. "I remember how jealous I was back when the two of them started hanging together. I was just hoping that Ron and I could put together some serious 'us' time before college."

"You want to find some time to get frisky?" Monique's smirk was predatory.

"I really don't know. I mean, the moments were so perfect at Senior's Island. Making time to go off and…well…just seems so calculating."

"You're looking for it to be a little more spontaneous?"

"Yeah," Kim admitted. "Partly because Ron seemed a little…hesitant…when we took our vacation."

"That's not hard for me to understand," Monique told her friend. The two girls had discussed the 'Team Possible Vacation' before Kim and Ron left for Senior's Island. "Remember back when you had that freaky mood chip on your neck?"

"I haven't been able to forget it."

"Okay, Ron tried to break up with you because he was scared that if the two of you dated and it went south, it would ruin your friendship. I'm willing to bet he's nervous that if he tries to make an intimate move, and it tanks, it will ruin your romance, which will then ruin your friendship."

"But we talked about it," Kim protested.

"Yeah, and after your talk and he had some time to get comfortable with the idea, he was ready to go, wasn't he?"

"Yeah," Kim was surprised that she wasn't blushing over this conversation.

"There you go. The two of you are taking your time, there's nothing wrong with that."

"How about you?" Kim decided to change the subject. "How are you and Matt doing?"

"We're not ready for that step," Monique admitted. "But he's the best boyfriend I've ever had. So far, at least."

The slight frown on Monique's face, as she delivered her last sentence, wasn't lost on Kim.

"I take it there's trouble in your paradise?" The redhead asked.

"I can't say trouble, but we had the 'what do we do with the rest of our lives' talk last night. He's going to college on a football scholarship, which is just fine by me. He isn't taking some 'gimme' degree, designed to keep him on the field, so he won't be studying Whiffleball Theory, or some other junk like that. Anyway, he has dreams of making it in the NFL after college and that's just fine with me as well. It's what he's planning for if the NFL doesn't work out for him, as well as after his football career is over, that has me doubting."

"What's that?"

"He wants to take over his folks' farm."

"That's not a bad plan," Kim frowned.

"Kim girl, I might be a lot of things, but a country girl isn't one of them! Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to buy into the stupid stereotypes about rural people but I don't want to be one, y'know? I'm a city girl, I like to be where the action and fashion are at."

"So what's the sitch between you two?" Kim asked. "Are you going to break up with him?"

"No, he's way too good of a guy for that. I'm just going to see where this takes us. He's going for a business degree so even if the pros don't pan out for him, the two of us could work together, y'know? I just don't want to turn into a farm girl."

"I thought his parents owned a ranch."

"Girlfriend, it doesn't make any difference to me! It still means being ten miles from the nearest neighbor and farther than that from the nearest mall!"

"Okay, fine!" Kim raised her hands in mock surrender. "So what else has been happening?"

"I've been dying to hear someone ask me that!" Monique, the former Middleton High Gossip Queen, was all too ready to fill her friend in on the current, young adult scene. "How about I start with Tara and Josh?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Okay, they're still going good and strong but Tara's starting to have a few doubts."

"Kind of like you with Matt?"

"Sort of the exact opposite. Josh is really into his art so he's really into the art scene, you know, the snooty parties where everyone stands around sipping wine and complaining that the government is wasting money? They seem to think that Uncle Sam needs to quit shelling out the cash for silly stuff like bridges and communications satellites and spend it on more worthy causes, like subsidizing artists. Anyway, Josh isn't big on getting subsidized since he has the talent to make it on his own, but he really likes the urban, sophisticated scene. Tara's a lot more basic; she just wants to hang with him and have fun. She'd rather do a picnic out at the lake that rub shoulders with the cultural elite."

"The two of them aren't going to break up, are they?"

"It's nowhere near that point," Monique told her friend. "Josh is a good guy and Tara's a good girl, but the fact is they're comfortable in different settings. They're going to have to deal with that if they want to take it to another level."

"Maybe the two of you should trade boyfriends," Kim snickered. "Tara seems to want to be rural, like Matt while you want to be urban, like Josh."

"That's not funny," Monique retorted, although she chuckled. "Tara and I haven't been with our guys for as long as you've been with Ron, so we're not ready to think about weddings yet. Still, I thing Tara and Matt would look good together and I know I could clean up Josh a little more. Now, about Hope's new boyfriend..."

The two girls continued to prepare the store for the day while Monique filled Kim in on their former classmates' social and/or romantic lives. Kim idly wondered if Monique was more efficient than Wade when it came to digging up information.

* * *

"Please remain seated, Miss Minated," Senior Senior Senior instructed his guest. "And thank you for returning to my humble island."

"Of course, Mr. Senior," the young woman replied, remaining seated in Senior's comfortable den and trying not to flinch at how much the old man's voice had weakened since she had left his island. "My father asked me to hear some sort of offer you had given him."

"Indeed, my dear," a servant helped the elderly man into a chair and left, following Senior's waved instructions to leave the room. Elly's bodyguard rose to follow.

"Please remain, young man," Senior instructed him. "I understand that propriety demands that, if I'm willing to dismiss my guardians and servants, your client should follow suit. However, at my age and in my condition, there is very little left for me to lose. Therefore, I ask you to stay and provide your client with your own wisdom."

"Now," Senior continued, as the guard returned to his chair. "Let me be perfectly straightforward, my dear. Those of us who indulge in a bit of villainy tend to keep an eye on each other. Even though your father contents himself with smuggling harmless items, I know a great deal about him. For a long time, I've been very impressed with your ability to manage his enterprise; this is part of the reason I invited you to compete for my son's hand."

"I had hoped that you would win," Senior confessed, his expression growing sour for a moment. "However, Miss Leon proved to be very clever at manipulating her competitors. Unfortunately, she has not proven anywhere near as clever at managing the great wealth I will shortly leave behind. I also must admit that my son, although I love him dearly, is not well suited to managing such wealth. This is where you come in."

"You want me to manage your criminal empire?" Elly interrupted. "Surely you have a staff of professionals to take care of this!"

"Indeed I do," Senior smiled indulgently. "These professionals are intelligent, capable and utterly without the imagination and flair that I used to build this financial and villainous empire. Miss Minated, the flair and style that you have shown on the Baltic, as well as the ability you showed during the competition, are what I want making the decisions when I pass away."

"But your son!" Elly protested. "He will surely protest this arrangement. I do not wish to cause a rift between the two of you!"

"You will not," Senior assured her. "For all of his faults, my son realizes that he has no skill at manipulating and growing wealth. I told him of my intentions before I made my offer to your father. However, we have been only speaking about how my son will benefit from my proposed arrangement, we must discuss what you will gain from taking on this responsibility."

"First of all, you will be safe here," Senior told her. "My security measures can easily repel the thuggish bands that have shown interest in taking control of your father's illicit activities. With your safety assured, your father will be free to sell off his holdings and retire to a comfortable, secret location he has already established."

"Secondly, you will be very comfortable here. I know that you are acclimated to the Baltic's chill but I am sure that you, a beautiful frost rose, will be able to thrive here in the warm, sunny Mediterranean. In addition to my island's climate, you have seen that I have made this island a comfortable mansion, in addition to a safe fortress. As the financial manager, you will be more than a simple employee. You will have access to all facilities outside of the private, family areas."

"Finally, there is the wealth for you to gain," Senior concluded. "You will earn a percentage of the amount you grow my empire. The exact percentage is still negotiable but you will find that I am most generous. My empire is a strange mixture of villainy and legitimacy, a mixture that you have proven to be most capable of managing. This means that you will be able to generate great wealth while establishing your own, private fortune."

"I must ask if this is the sum total of your motivation," Elly's bodyguard interrupted. "My client is, indeed, a brilliant financial manager. However, she is also a very attractive young woman. This isn't some sort of a concealed effort to establish a harem for your son, is it?"

"Indeed not, young man," the elderly villain protested with a harsh tone. "I would say that I am offended by your question but I am impressed with your concern for your client. I want my financial and criminal empire to endure long after I am gone and your client represents by best chance of assuring that this will take place."

"My guard brings up a good point," Elly pointed out. "I did attempt to gain your son's hand in marriage. My presence, with the authority that will come with it, could prove irritating to his wife."

"Let me assure you that my daughter-in-law will learn to adapt," Senior told her, in his cultured voice. For a moment, his polite demeanor took on a calculating, cunning air. "And perhaps a bit of irritation wouldn't be a bad thing. However, Leon is a realist, in her own way. She will understand that you will be generating wealth for her to utilize. She will learn to appreciate your presence."

"What about me?" Elisabeth asked. "Like my guard said, I am a young woman and I enjoy my social life. While your island is very hospitable, it isn't the best place to meet someone. Not only that, but what happens if I do meet someone?"

"First, young lady, let me assure you that you will have ample time off and easy access to most of Europe. Should you meet someone, you will be welcome to bring him here, after he has passed the security checks. If your relationship should thrive, you will find that your quarters are large enough to support a spouse and a family." The elderly man smiled. "Elderly gentlemen tend to like to see the attractive, young women around them happy."

"Very well," Elisabeth Minated nodded. "We will have to hammer out the final details but I agree."

"Excellent!"

"I will want to meet with your financial advisers within the hour," she continued. "I need to get a grip on your assets and expenditures. Based on this, we will be able to set up an allowance for your son and his wife. My father didn't build his empire by sitting around," she informed her employer, in response to his surprised look. "And I don't intend to, either."

"Miss Minated," Senior declared. "I think we are going to get along just fine."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Home sweet home.

That's how the old saying went and Ron could finally understand the longing to be home. It had been a rough week, to say the least. He, his parents and Hanna had left for the grueling, cross-country trip shortly after the teenager had returned from his investigative committee grilling in DC. Two long days on the road, during which even Hanna had become restless, followed by a cousin's wedding had set everyone on edge. Cousin Shawn had been every bit the terror he had remembered. Fortunately for Ron, some of his even younger cousins were now old enough that the brat found them more enjoyable targets. Unfortunately, Ron now felt a sense of responsibility to product the helpless, little waifs from the mass of evil shaped like a preteen.

Ron's solution had been to organize a touch football game, during which he placed himself squarely in the little delinquent's sights. The high school graduate simply grinned and bore it whenever the pint-sized bully threw in an inappropriate knee or elbow. Glancing at the adults, Ron could see that they all approved of the manner in which he had gotten the younger family members out from under foot. Even Shawn's mother, who was terrified that her little darling might get hurt, seemed mostly satisfied.

The next several days had, fortunately, been devoted to simply traveling and seeing sights. For most guys, this would have been perfectly acceptable. Ron, however, was used to much faster means of transportation and was more than just a little miffed that the one person he would have enjoyed sharing the easy pace with wasn't there. Still, he understood his parents' reasoning. He was on the verge of leaving home and although they now had Hanna to fill in the empty nest, they wanted to get in as much time with him as they possibly could. Ron couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic. It was very possible that this would turn into his last truly family vacation, at least until he started his own family. In a few short weeks, he would be moving into the Upperton University Dormitories to begin his collegiate football career. While the prospect excited him, it also brought some sad thoughts, as well.

After years of being the loser outcast, Ron had shrugged off the label during his junior year of high school. A small group of close friends, as well as a larger band of more distant friends had marked his senior year. It seemed ironic (when did he start to use school words in his private thoughts?) that he had forged these friendships just in time to see graduation sunder them. Still, they were friendships that he was determined to maintain.

The first name on the list was Wade. He didn't really worry about staying in touch with the boy-genius, since Wade could probably track him at any given time. Secondly, it should be fairly easy to keep in touch with Felix. Zombie mayhem had a new, on-line site and the two could get together for some occasional zombie bashing, even though half the continent separated them. Oscar, Cindy and Monique would be more difficult, since they didn't share his passion for digital, undead-based mayhem. Still, he hoped that emails would prove more effective for him than snail-mail had been for his father.

Of course, the most important person of all would be right with him in Upperton. While they probably wouldn't share any classes, they would be able to get together each day. It was the thought of getting together with her that had prompted him to set the cruise control on his father's sperm whale-sized sedan so carefully. Every time he had ventured as much as two miles-per-hour above the posted speed limit, his parents had started snickering and commenting that he didn't need to be so anxious to get back to her. Now, cruising through the residential neighborhoods en route to his home, Ron was forced to admit that it was probably too late to hook up with her yet tonight. While it wasn't too late, strictly speaking, when he guided the lumbering hunk of metal into the driveway, Kim had family visiting and this nudged the 'it's too late to visit' time forward by about an hour. Add to this was the fact that he needed to help unload the vehicular monstrosity and help settle Hanna back in. His father must have seen his sigh as he climbed out of the driver's seat because the older man's hand quickly came to rest on his shoulder.

"I know you want to see her," Gene Stoppable smiled at his son. "But you have all day tomorrow. Help us get settled back in, get a good night's sleep, and spend tomorrow with her and your friends."

"I know dad, it just seems that the one summer I really want to spend time with her is the one summer I can't," Ron grabbed a couple of Hanna's bags, reflecting on the irony that the smallest person always managed to take up the most room. "I mean, we had a nice vacation with each other, then the Seniors' Island Mission and those investigative committees took up the rest of our first half of vacation. I only have another month before football starts and Sens…er…the headmaster of the Yamanouchi School wants me to spend a week in Japan."

"We can't all get everything we want," Gene advised his son. "Be thankful that you managed the time you did with Kimberly and be thankful that you will be going to school with her. I understand that you want to spend as much time with her as you can but keep things in perspective. You're both young and both of you have additional commitments. Taking care of these commitments will make the time you can spend with each other all the more precious. Now, speaking of commitments, let's get ourselves settled back in so that we can relax. Your mother won't let up until she's sure we're ready for tomorrow."

While Jean Stoppable had a very pleasant demeanor, she ran her household with efficiency that would impress a drill sergeant. While she seldom raised her voice, she had instilled an almost military obedience in her two men. Less than an hour after the car stopped in the driveway, the bags were all unloaded, the dirty laundry was sorted in the laundry room (with a load in the washer), and Hanna was settled into her room for a good night's sleep. After this, she dispatched Ron to the freezer, to pull out food for the next day's meal. Finally, the Stoppables were ready to face tomorrow and Jean allowed her son and husband to go about their own business. Exhausted, Ron made his way to his room.

Upon opening his door, he half-saw and half-sensed a slight motion. Dropping into a fighting crouch, he reached over and turned on the light to reveal…

Kim!

Moments later, the teens were in each other's arms. For the longest time, they simply held each other, relishing the contact after a week's separation. Yeah, he had it bad. A few days away from her and now he didn't want to let her go. He took some comfort in the fact that she seemed just as determined to maintain permanent, physical contact. Finally, after a time, which seemed to both last forever and only a moment, the two teens broke their embrace.

"Not that I'm complaining," Ron commented. "But why are you here right now? I was going to visit you in the morn…"

Kim indulged herself with a quick kiss before looking him in the eye and stating, "Ron, we've got a problem."

* * *

"But I still don't understand why I can't get the diamond encrusted pet dish collection!" Camille Senior whined. "I mean, is Debutante supposed to eat off of plain china?"

"It's a simple budgetary manner," Elisabeth Minated informed her client, and former competitor. "You have already purchased tickets to the Barcelona Oh Boyz concert. In addition, you have rented a luxury suite for two weeks. These purchases, combined with the clothing you purchased for the event, have taken up most of your quarterly allowance."

"But I can't believe that I don't have enough to buy the dishes," Camille protested.

"Technically speaking, you have enough," Elly agreed. "But if you purchase the dishes, you won't be able to shop in Spain."

"Eeeeew! No shopping?"

"So you agree to not purchase the dishes?"

"Not yet, but when will I be able to get them?"

"Your weekly allowances aren't sufficient to afford the dishes," Elly informed her. "So you'll have to either forgo your weekly outlays or wait until the next quarter." Elly noticed the glazed look on Camille's face, took a deep breath and made another, valiant effort to explain simple economics. "It means you can't purchase the dishes until September."

"WHAT!? Debutante will wither away to nothing!"

"Are you aware that diamond doesn't actually have a taste and that she has never actually eaten off of diamond-coated dinnerware? "

"It's not that! Debutante is, like, used to the best things in life and she's really shook up about moving here! I need to get the dishes so she'll know how important she is to me! I need to let her know that I'm willing to go that extra mile, or whatever, for her! Giving her some real classy dishes will take care of that. Oh, that reminds me, I'll also need to buy a teak table for her. That marble-topped cat table is so last season."

"I've seen her slip into the kitchen and eat scraps that the cooks have 'accidentally' dropped, off of the floor," Elly pointed out. "When she gets hungry enough, she'll eat from whatever dish happens to hold her food and whatever surface it happens to rest upon."

"EEEeeeew! Next you'll want her to eat actual cat food!"

"Okay," Elly rubbed at her temples. "You could always quit your weekly spending. If you don't spend your next three weekly allowances you'll have enough, barely, to purchase the dishes."

"Okay, maybe Debutante doesn't need to know she's that important, but there has to be another way. Can't I get an one of those add-thingys?"

"You mean an advance?"

"That's it!"

"Not a chance. This is a criminal enterprise and criminals don't put much faith in credit."

"So what do I do?"

"Okay, there's one other possibility. Why don't you take advantage of your trip to earn a little extra cash?"

"You mean get a job?"

"No, steal something! Didn't your father-in-law invite you to join the contest because you had a devious streak? There should be plenty of valuables bouncing around at the concert. Didn't you say that all of your friends loved the Oh Boyz?"

"Yes."

"So there should be a lot of overly-rich, empty-headed girls in the audience shouldn't there?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Trust me," Elly managed to hide her snicker. "There's going to be plenty of girls there, flaunting their wealth. There should be even more flaunting around the city, with all of these girls doing some exotic shopping. With that flaunting, you should be able to acquire a little bit of the wealth. You'll be able to make some brownie points with your father-in-law and please your cat at the same time."

"Why would Senior want a brownie?"

"It doesn't mean...never mind, you'll impress him."

"I will, won't I? Good idea! I can see why Senior hired you to look after things here, what you like, don't have in looks, you have in brains."

"Thanks," Elly snarled back. "Now, if you don't have any more questions, I'd like to look into some of our business ventures, so the money keeps coming in."

Camille Senior, nose firmly in the air, strutted out of Elisabeth Minated's office. The blonde, chief villainy advisor kept a partially pleasant expression on her face until her door interposed itself, with a pleasant whoosh, between her and her employer's daughter-in-law. That's when the primal, frustrated growl burst out of her throat.

"How could I lose to such a ditz?" She snarled to herself. Camille was devious, no doubt about it, but she was also vain, self-centered and idiotic. Elisabeth Minated climbed to her feet and stalked into the island's operational lair, thankful that she hadn't wound up married to a man who was willing to marry Camille.

While Senior had heeded the 'hint' that the Spanish, French and Italian navies had given him to quit the 'take over the world' schemes, the old man still indulged in villainy. Of course, this villainy was much less violent and obvious than his previous endeavors, the type of villainy that Elisabeth had grown up with. At any given time, she had over a dozen smuggling, insurance fraud, racketeering, protection and other schemes taking place. What really impressed Senior Senior Sr. was the fact that she disguised these operations behind legitimate businesses. This not only made both the legitimate and criminal operations more profitable, it made the villainous operations harder to detect.

Elisabeth spent the next two hours with Senior's staff, burning off the frustrations she experienced whenever speaking with Camille and making subtle adjustments to both the criminal and legitimate operations. Senior's staff, suspicious and condescending when she started, now respected and admired her. It didn't hurt that she had instituted a policy of awarding the staff bonuses, based upon the profits the various ventures returned. The result was a hard working, imaginative staff.

After assuring herself that all the operations were functioning within the parameters she had established, she took advantage of the island's spa. Still feeling grouchy and frustrated, she went on-line and commiserated her Camille situation with her new friend and previous competitor, Trudy Dementor. Shortly after Camille eliminated Trudy from the competition, the physics prodigy had contacted Elly and the two young women had struck up an on-line friendship. Elly was actually surprised at the interest Trudy showed in the difficulties she had dealing with the new Mrs. Senior. Elly didn't picture the mad scientist's daughter as either a pop star follower or a shopaholic. Yet, the girl's questions about Camille's intended activities and schedule proved to be absolutely probing.

* * *

Duff Killigan reluctantly left his personal golf course with the setting sun. Of course, he couldn't spend every waking moment playing golf and the nighttime hours were the proper time to spend performing needed maintenance. The bulky Scott made his way to his castle's garage, reflecting on his good fortune to be out of prison, on parole.

When Drakken had launched his Diablo attack over a year ago, the fallout had been severe among Duff's former colleagues. Then, when that barmy builder-fellow pulled off a similar stunt, things had changed even more. Duff pulled an access hatch off of his blimp's engine housing and started to work, while reflecting what had happened to his old associates. First, Drakken himself had vanished. The UN reported that someone had kidnapped him from one of its international, prisoner transfer flights. While the flight crew reappeared in Morocco, the half-genius-half-idiot had yet to reappear. Duff rather missed the raving, blue maniac; he had paid reasonably well for Duff's services.

The golfer shook his head and went back to work. Two of his release's terms were that he avoid contact with his old associates and that he refrain from flying his blimp. Still, his parole would eventually end so he wanted to keep the machine ready to go. As for not hiring himself out as enforcing muscle, if the right offer came along, he'd risk it. Next, he thought of Montgomery Fiske, a countryman of sorts. He had also vanished, although rumors hinted that he and the green lassie, Shego, had teamed up to spring Drakken. While Killigan had never understood the monkey-lad's motivations, he had actually liked the man. If further rumors were true and Fiske had shacked up with that Shego character, the Englishman was probably in for some interesting times.

Duff smiled a little, thinking about Shego; she had always seemed to be the real brains behind Drakken. In fact, Duff considered the green-skinned woman to be more of a colleague than Drakken, the sort that provided violence in return for money. While the blue lad had some impressive schemes, he didn't seem to be able to actually make them work without the green lassie. Drakken seemed completely unable to get his henchmen to jump to his whims. It had been Shego who had executed the barmy blue lad's plans.

Thinking of Drakken brought Duff's thoughts to the man's cousin, Motor Ed. This seemed appropriate, considering that Duff had his arms elbow-deep in a high-performance engine. The self-proclaimed world's deadliest golfer had never met the younger Lipsky cousin, but the blond man's reputation made Duff wish that he was here, right now, working on his dirigible's engine. As if that was going to happen! The grapevine said that the mullet-head was trying to go straight.

Duff shook his head, next thinking about the Seniors. He had taken the odd job for the elderly gentleman and couldn't believe that the daft old codger would marry his only son off to that haggis-brained lassie, Camille Leon. If Duff had ever even thought of marrying someone like the shapeshifter, his dear mum would roll over in her grave.

All things considered, Duff had to admit that the world's criminal element was in trouble. All of the really capable thugs were either in hiding, arrested, vanished, or going straight. Heaving a deep sigh, Duff noted that his engine lubricant was low, so he reached for a bottle to top off the reservoir.

"I'd be thinking twice before doing that, Jimmy," a voice declared from behind the volatile golfer.

Duff spun around, his eyes going wide as they fell upon the man who had appeared in his garage. "You!" He snarled.

"Aye, ye thought ye could just put that garbage in a fine engine, did ye? We're kin, Duffie-boy, ye should've known I'd have my eye on ye."

"Kin or no, ye've no business in me castle," Duff snarled right back. "Our own dear gram gave 'er to me, fair and square she did." Duff glanced around, spotting one of his used three-woods just out of his reach.

"'Tis not the castle I'm here about," his adversary claimed. "Ye know why I'm here."

"The dirigible be none of yer business either, ye fool!" Duff punctuated his statement by kicking an old caddy at the intruder. Not waiting to see if the man would dodge, he lunged for his golf club. His hand had just contacted the club's worn leather when he heard the shrieking whistle, caused by a thin, metallic body lashing through the air. Searing pain shot from his wrist, causing him to drop the club.

Before Duff could react, the intruder's weapon cut through the air again, this time striking the back of Duff's leg. Duff Killigan was a tough, violent criminal enforcer but he was also very bulky. With one leg pretty much out of commission, he fell to the ground with an impressive thud. His assailant didn't give him a moment's respite, slashing repeatedly at the prone, golfing mercenary. Duff tried to block the attacks, earning himself welts all over his forearms. Unfortunately, Duff couldn't stop them all. More and more painful slashes slipped past his arms, inflicting painful cuts on his face and torso. As his vision darkened, Duff wondered if he would ever wake up again.

* * *

As soon as the two thugs-for-hire (Fiske insisted on referring to the two of them as 'managerial enforcers' although he had to admit that thug-for-hire was more accurate) reached their home, the fallen nobleman rushed straight to the bathroom to wash his hands. One of the biggest problems he and his wife dealt with was the fact that criminal organizations didn't promote its own members through time-honored…conventional means. No, promotion within such and organization was done more…basically…which explained why Monty was now scrubbing furiously at his hands.

Three weeks ago one of the organization's drivers had missed a sharp, mountain curve, at high speed and in the middle of the night. (Fiske sighed again, wishing that the boss would take his advice and pay the drivers based upon loads delivered _**safely**_, rather than merely _**delivered**_.) The truck's resulting deceleration, which took place after a two hundred-meter free-fall, had resulted in the man's death. While Monty hadn't been particularly fond of the man, he did mourn his passing because of what was sure to result. Sure enough, the band recruited another brash young man, who possessed more swagger than brains and was determined to carve his own niche in the world.

This was where the band's unusual method of promoting came into play. A criminal organization didn't promote members based upon intelligence, skill or seniority; it promoted its members based on toughness. As had happened too many times, the new, young man received an infuriating amount of hazing from the older members and sought to divert it by making an example of the slight, inoffensive Englishman. This was why Fiske mourned the loss of the new man's predecessor, that man had tried the same thing and Fiske had made it very clear that he was nobody's whipping boy. With the reckless driver's passing, Fiske had been forced to educate another young man.

This particular young man had been a little imaginative, throwing a pan of used motor oil on the Englishman as Fiske was leaving his office. Of course, the only thing that had saved the hothead's life was the fact that Fiske chose to pummel him, rather than kill him and go through it all over again in a few weeks. Because he took some care not to kill the idiot, Fiske had absorbed a couple of shots and now sported a black eye and sore ribs. In addition, when Fiske knocked out several of the dolt's teeth, those teeth had given him some deep cuts across his knuckles. The archaeologist-turned-managerial enforcer would find handling both pencil and keyboard painful for at least a week. Finally, the oil that the moron had thrown upon him had stained his clothing irreversibly and Fiske took a great deal of pride in his professional appearance.

Fiske scrubbed the worst of the blood and grime from his hands before climbing into the shower and scouring the filth from his body. After finishing, he stepped out of the shower, donned a robe and contemplated his reflection in the mirror. He really couldn't blame the freshly educated driver for targeting him; he didn't cut a very intimidating figure. In his case, looks were deceiving.

Long before Fiske had even heard of the jade statues, he had become a hardened archeologist. Granted, some purists might have referred to him as a looter but Fiske considered himself a professional. During his time, he had embarked upon hardships that would impress a seasoned, special-forces soldier. Fiske had climbed up snow-capped mountains, struggled through sweltering jungles (he refused to use the politically correct term, 'rain forest') and slogged through dismal swamps. He had faced all manners of predators, both human and animal, with anything from a rifle to his bare hands. The fact that he had emerged relatively unscathed was a testament to his toughness, determination and skill. While his ill conceived attempt to pilfer Stoppable's Mystical Monkey Power had cost him both the glimmer of the power he had already acquired, as well as his simian alterations, the lifetime's worth of toughness still remained.

Running a comb through his coarse hair, he wondered if the toughness his life had imparted was what kept Shego at his side. The alluring young woman could easily find a much younger, more handsome young man, if she chose. Monty readily admitted that he wasn't…'golden'…as Shego would say and he wasn't about to flatter himself by thinking that he had the golden touch in more…intimate…matters. The fact was that Shego was very hard to keep up with and the assorted pretty boys and toughs that tried to gain her attention probably didn't have the stamina for the job. Fiske smirked at his reflection, amused that he would have such a difficult time accepting the fact that he and Shego had, somehow, fallen in love with each other.

That piece of revelation took the smile from his face. It was his turn to prepare breakfast, or whatever you called a meal you consume at sunrise, just before going to bed. While he had no doubt that Shego loved him, it didn't mean that she was going to take over his portion of the household chores due to something as minor as a lacerated punching hand, even though she had been in an uncharacteristically good mood as of late. Finishing with his hair, he rushed into the kitchen, where Shego was waiting.

"About time," she drawled, with a curious smile lurking just behind her sneer.

"I'll get right to our repast," Fiske assured his wife.

"No need," now Shego's smile was clear and open. She pulled a cooking sheet, with a large mass of dough on it, from behind her. This was rather unusual since the two of them rarely baked their sunup meals. "Do you want to do the honors?" She asked, opening the oven door.

Fiske shrugged and took the offered pan. He had the dough halfway into the oven before the symbolism struck him.

"Is this act supposed to represent something else?" He asked.

"You finally got it!" Shego all but crowed. "We've got a bun in the oven!"

"But…but I thought that this procedure could take several attempts," Fiske stammered, immobilized by the news.

"Could doesn't mean will," Shego informed him, firmly taking the sheet from her stunned husband and putting it in the oven to bake. "It looks like we managed the deed on the second try." Finally, the woman couldn't hold her enthusiasm any longer. With a shriek of joy, she leapt into her husband's arms. Fiske could only twirl her, savoring the most intense joy he had ever experienced in his life.

Unknown to the happy couple, the doctor who had engineered this little miracle now considered himself free to use the remaining, genetic material in his possession at his own discretion. Even as Fiske set his bride on a chair and the two began to discuss names, the doctor made an international phone call to a Seattle suburb.

* * *

"Well Doctor Renton, I think we're gonna have a bit of a problem with this manipulator arm holding up for the whole mission."

"I don't see this as an issue, Mr. Possible," Dr. Renton countered. "This is a comet probe, so it's only going to be drilling into ice and other soft materials."

"True, but what happens if we happen to be unlucky enough to hit a rock? B'sides that, this probe is going to be the prototype for a whole fleet. Some of them are going to be targeted at asteroids, so we might as well make it tough enough now, so we don't have to change it later. While the drill itself is hard enough to hold up, the actuator arm might bend under the strain."

"Do you have a suggestion, Mr. Possible?"

"Why don't we cut the extension down?" Slim suggested. "That way, we can brace the arm and stay under the weight budget. Sure, we'll cut down the reach but what's a couple inches after you've flown a couple o' million miles?" Slim Possible hesitated a moment before adding, "it'll also be more efficient if you call me 'Slim' rather than Mr. Possible."

"Only if you call me Janice."

"Fair enough, Janice. Now, if we sacrifice a little performance we can gain a whole lot o' endurance. I'll hafta crunch the numbers a mite, but I'm pretty sure we'll have us a space probe that'll still be drilling samples when our young'uns have their degrees."

"You're the expert on that M..er..Slim. Slim, do you mind if a ask you a personal question?"

"Fire away."

"Have you ever...found someone...after your wife passed away? I'm sorry if it brings up sad memories."

"No offense taken," Slim answered. "I've sort of dealt with it but the answer is no. I thought it was 'cause I lived out on the ranch, where there aren't many women to meet. Somehow, I think I just haven't found anyone that kind of fills that gap, if you know what I mean."

"I understand perfectly," Janice replied. "Ever since I lost my husband I really haven't found anyone I'm really interested in...until.."

"Until?" Slim prompted.

"Okay, here goes! Slim, I'd like to get to know you a little better and I don't mean professionally." Janice Renton considered herself a mature, assertive woman but she now found herself unable to meet Slim's eyes.

"Really? I figured a pretty, smart gal like you'd have a couple suitors around."

"No, Slim, I haven't had much luck with my social life. What do you say?"

"I say I'm really interested in the same way. Where's that place my niece says is a nice place, Riverna's?"

"It is a nice place for dinner," Janice confirmed.

"Then could I treat a lady, who happens to be a cyber-robotics expert, there this Friday?"

"Have any such ladies in mind?"

"Only the one that's in this room with me right now."

"She'd love to, say about eight?"

"Sounds good to me! Now, how's about we get this drill arm on line so we don't have it hanging over us this weekend?"

It was nice to have a reason to finish the job.

* * *

_A/N:_

_Before I say anything else, I'd like to mention that the dipstick-obsessed mechanic is also not my property. _

_Again, my thanks to Joe Stoppinghem for his most welcome beta assistance. _

_I'm simply overwhelmed by the response I received from the first chapter. Thank you everyone, I hope you like the story._

_Until my next posting, best wishes;_

_daccu65._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

"Heather! Stacy! Marcy!" Camille didn't fake the enthusiasm she demonstrated when she saw her old friends. The three other young women, all about her age, shouted back and rushed to meet her. What followed was a series of squeals and hugs as the wealthy (some might say spoiled) girls greeted each other.

"So did you really get married?" Stacy, a heavy metal star's daughter, demanded of the one-time heiress.

"Like, a few weeks ago," Camille gushed back, holding up her left hand. Her wedding and engagement rings, a reflection of the Seniors' vast wealth, impressed even her jaded audience.

"So, like, where's your husband?" Heather, whose mother had once been a world famous model, and now had a reality television program, asked.

"He, like, doesn't like the Oh Boyz," Camille told the girl. "Something about how they always outsell him, even when he buys a couple thousand of his own albums."

"Oh, so your husband has a band?" Heather gasped. "That must be great! I bet you dance to his music, like, all the time."

"Not really," Camille admitted. "It's kind of, like, hard to dance to bagpipes and jackhammers." She noted the three girls' confused expressions. "It's kind of hard to explain. But c'mon! We all have backstage passes, don't we? I can't wait to meet Robbie up close!"

"Uh, Camille?" Marcy, whose grandfather had founded a cosmetic empire, asked. "I thought you were, like, married. Should you, like, be trying to catch Robbie's eye?"

"Just because I'm married doesn't mean I can't date," Camille answered. Then, seeing three confused looks again, added, "like, does it?"

"I think so," Stacy answered. "My parents quit dating after they got married."

"Mine too," Heather added. "I mean, once dad married my stepmother he, like, quit dating for almost a year!"

"A whole year?" Camille gasped. "I, like, didn't know that getting married would mean no dating for that long!"

"Maybe it's no big deal," Marcy suggested. "Why don't you, like, ask your husband once you get back?"

"You mean, like, after the concert's over?" Camille asked.

"Exactly!"

"You always were the clever one!" Camille gushed.

Without further ado, the four young women piled into a limousine for the trip to their luxury accommodations. By the time they arrived, Heather, Stacy and Marcy were each short a credit card. Of course these girls were loaded down with plastic and didn't realize it until several days later. Somehow, these missing cards found their way into Camille's possession.

The four girls didn't notice the slightly younger, blonde girl, accompanied by a very burly man, watching them.

* * *

"Mr. and Mrs. Stoppable, and Dr. and Dr. Possible, I'm so glad that the four of you could accompany your children to this meeting. I'm Dr. Phisley and I have to say how delighted I am that all of you have taken the time to meet with me to discus your children's situation. All too many people wouldn't show sufficient interest. I want to assure you that I'm not making any judgements here, I'm here to help your children."

"So are we," Dr. James Possible informed the other doctor. With four adults and two teens crammed into the man's office, there was very little room. "I want to remain calm but I cannot help but feel that Kimmie and Ronald are being unfairly ostracized by their circumstances. I don't want them to miss out on the university experience because of what they've done."

"I'll admit that I don't understand the entire situation," Gene Stoppable added. "Ronald and Kimberly haven't done anything wrong. Perhaps you could start at the beginning, so I can understand this situation completely."

"An excellent suggestion, Mr. Stoppable," Dr. Phisley nodded at the man. "While the roots of the problem go back to the fact that your children routinely confront violent criminals, the incident that occurred late in their Junior year of high school turned this from a minor annoyance to a legitimate concern."

"You mean the synthodrones that Dr. Drakken created to…seduce us," Kim forced out the question, still irritated with herself for ignoring Ron to pursue Eric. Unseen by the others, Ron engulfed her hand with one of his, comforting her.

"That was another minor incident, Miss Possible," Dr. Phisley informed her. "I'm referring to the incident when two criminals, I believe they are known as Monkey Fist and Motor Ed, infiltrated your school and assaulted you on school grounds."

"Kimmie and Ronald, with the help of faculty and friends, fought off the assailants," Mrs. Dr. Possible pointed out. "If my memory is correct, Edward, Fiske and the Gearheads wound up in jail, and the trained monkeys wound up in the county animal control facility. The school officials even allowed the dance to continue."

"This is true, Dr. Possible, but several students suffered minor injuries," Dr. Phisley countered. "As did one faculty member, Mr. Steve Barkin. While none of these injuries required any medical treatment, the fact that they occurred is a valid reason for concern. In addition, the school facilities withstood minor damage."

"Which the school itself admitted they recovered by not needing to pay the criminals for the work they had done under fraudulent pretenses," Mr. Stoppable protested. "Ronald was the only one who sustained any appreciable injuries during that incident and the school actually came out better, financially, because of it. I don't see the issue here."

"The concerns are legitimate, Mr. Stoppable," Dr. Phisley insisted. "The fact that the criminals didn't manage to seriously injure anybody other than your son doesn't detract from the fact that they staged a violent assault, on school grounds, targeting both your son and Miss Possible. This incident has given some weight to the incident Miss Possible brought up earlier. The criminal, Drew Lipsky, created two, dangerous constructs known as synthodrones and infiltrated them into Middleton High School. If either, or both of these automations had decided to attack the general, school population the results could have been…tragic."

"Doctor," Mrs. Stoppable spoke up for the first time. "Considering the recent spate of both high school and college shootings that have taken place, all without Kim's and Ronald's presence, I don't think that you can conclude that their presence will endanger the other students. In fact, I can argue that their presence will be more likely to stabilize such situations. As an example, I'd like to point out the drug incidents in the tri-city area this past school year. Kimberly and Ronald were able to restrain several students while keeping disruptions and injuries to a minimum."

"This is true," Dr. Phisley admitted. "But I could argue that a villain known as DNAmy created the drug, Pump, as part of a plot to keep Global Justice's affiliated teams, Team Possible included, busy. Had Team Possible not been present and active, such incidents may not have happened in the first place."

"That's pure conjecture!" Mr. Stoppable objected.

"I agree," Dr. Phisley nodded. "But Upperton University has to deal with such issues. Ladies and gentlemen, in addition to heading Upperton's Law School, I act as the University's legal advisor." The man allowed himself a shy grin. "My experiences in this capacity actually enhance my teaching ability. Anyway, several students, and their families, have brought up very legitimate concerns that Kim's and Ron's very presence will, potentially, endanger them."

"So what are you saying?" Mr. Dr. Possible protested. "Kimmie and Ronald won't be able to attend Upperton U?"

"Not at all," Dr. Phisley assured him. "We are on very solid, legal ground in allowing, nay welcoming, them to attend classes here at Upperton U. We're also looking forward to them taking part in the various, extracurricular activities we offer. Since Upperton is a publicly funded university, your children are well within their rights to attend, as long as they meet the admissions requirements. They have more than met them, so they are free to attend."

"Now comes the but..." Mrs. Stoppable prompted.

"But we cannot allow them to live in the dormitories," Dr. Phisley answered. "That was the concession we made with the concerned students and parents. If one of Team Possible's enemies were to assault them at their most vulnerable, when they're asleep, helpless students could get caught in the crossfire."

"This will be inconvenient, but not impossible," Mrs. Stoppable shrugged. "They can either commute from home or find someplace to live off campus, in Upperton."

"Commuting is kind of iffy," Mr. Stoppable chimed in. "I mean, it's about a half-hour in good weather, when traffic isn't a problem. Winter's coming on, and a storm that would mean a chilly walk across campus could mean a long, difficult and dangerous drive from Middleton."

"I know that housing in any college town can be overpriced," Mrs. Dr. Possible added. "But I'm sure we can find something. I don't understand why this has become such an issue."

"This is where things become more complicated," Kim informed her mother. "I want to be on the cheerleading squad and Ron wants to join the football team. However, Upperton University's rules state that freshman on either squad must live in University-supplied housing. Since Upperton U won't let us live in the dorms and won't make an allowance to let us live off campus, we won't be able to join the teams."

"It's too late to apply to another school," Ron added. "And I was really looking forward to playing the game."

"Let's not get hasty here," Mr. Dr. Possible stepped in. "Certainly the dormitories are out of the question, but what about other housing? Doesn't the University maintain off-campus facilities for visiting professors and researchers?"

"These properties are off limits to students," Phisley informed the rocket scientist. "And we will not make an exception. Some years back, we had a visiting professor use his apartment to entertain some of his students in a most…unethical manner. Since then, we have not allowed students to set foot in these properties."

"What about other housing?" Mrs. Dr. Possible insisted. "Don't you have dormitories for special needs students, such as married couples and handicapped students? Certainly Kimmie's and Ronald's situation makes them fall under the special needs category."

"We have such housing," Phisley admitted. "But it your children are quite obviously not physically handicapped in any way. The only way that they would qualify for such housing is if they were married."

Kim and Ron blushed profusely, while the parents all looked just a little awkward.

"Even if they were married, it still wouldn't make any difference," Dr. Phisley continued. "The underlying reason why the university cannot allow them to live with the general population remains; they are a potential target for violent criminals. Just as we could not allow them to live in the regular dormitories, we cannot allow them to live in the married couples' facilities."

"And you cannot make an exception, allowing them to join sports teams while living off campus," Mr. Stoppable concluded.

"The Board of Directors is the only body with the authority to make such an exception," Phisley told them. "And they will not meet until two weeks after the semester starts. This will be too late for Ronald to join the football team and Kim to join the cheerleading team. Trust me, I've already had Coaches Hartman and Fillers, the football and cheerleading coaches, giving me an earful on a daily basis. The sad fact is that our university simply isn't prepared to make a housing exception, on short notice, for any students. I'm truly sorry."

"So where does that leave us?" Ron asked, his shoulders slumping.

"I cannot make your decisions for you," Phisley informed the dejected teen. "But I can advise you. My advice is that the two of you obtain off-campus housing and attend classes this year. You'll be able to plead your case for joining the teams when the Board of Directors meets. While Miss Possible will be able to join the cheerleading squad for the spring semester, I'm afraid that you'll miss out on your freshmen year of football."

"As well as the scholarship that goes with it," Ron pointed out.

"Young man, I understand that you're upset but there's nothing I can do. Like I said before, the situation the two of you have found yourselves in is simply not one we've encountered before and we're not prepared to deal with it in a timely manner. I'm sorry but life simply isn't always fair."

"There still has to be a way," Mr. Dr. Possible insisted. "Perhaps…"

The Kimmunicator's four-tone chime interrupted the rocket scientist's musings.

"Tense meeting going on here, Wade," Kim answered. "Not a good time to interrupt."

"I know," Wade assured her. "This is an emergency request from Global Justice. Duff Killigan has been assaulted and injured, badly. He's asked to see you and since he's on parole, his criminal status is somewhat iffy. Dr. Director wants the two of you to look into the matter."

"Go ahead, Kimmie," Mrs. Dr. Possible told her daughter. "We'll try to come up with something, but I don't hold out much hope."

"Thanks, mom," Kim hugged her mother. "What about transport, Wade?"

"Outside the building in ten."

What followed was a rather confused series of rides. First, they climbed into a minivan, driven by the grandson of a woman Kim had once helped by threading a sewing needle. The minivan dropped them off at Upperton's regional airfield, where they boarded a sightseeing plane. Three years earlier, Kim had managed to remove an irate skunk from this same plane. Shortly after being evicted, the odiferous mammal had repaid Ron by securing him a week's respite from school. The sightseeing service's owner, on the other hand, provided Team Possible with rides. (Once the skunk's 'blessing' had worn off of Ron.) The sightseeing plane flew the two teens to Denver, where they collected the mission gear Wade had sent via another ride.

Four years previously, Kim and Ron had rewired a major hub's landing lights in the middle of a stationary fog bank, allowing numerous airliners and other aircraft to land safely. (Ron had only sustained a few, minor shocks, thanks to Wade's high-quality safety equipment.) As a result, this commercial airline provided the teens with international flights when Wade couldn't arrange for more rapid transport.

The several hours it took to fly to Aberdeen gave the teens plenty of time to discuss their college sitch. Kim found herself feeling incredibly sorry for Ron, who was so looking forward to trying to bring his game to a higher level. By the time the airliner started to descend towards Scotland, the teens had come to the conclusion that their best course of action was to follow Dr. Phisley's advice and attend Upperton U. Ron would have to try to join the team the following year.

"This tanks!" Ron complained, as the two piled into a farmer's truck for the trip to the Aberdeen Royal Infirmary. "I mean, team rules say I can't even work out with the team. If I lose a year of football, I might never catch up."

"We've just spent several hours trying to come up with a better plan," Kim pointed out, starting to get a little irritated with his complaining.

"That's what tanks," Ron admitted. "We can't come up with anything better."

Kim simply squeezed his hand, an expression of comfort and support, until they reached the hospital. The staff was waiting for them to arrive and quickly ushered the teens to Duff Killigan's private, secure room.

"Duff?" Kim asked, in a gentle voice. "We heard that you wanted to see us. What happened to you?"

"Be that ye, lassie?" The familiar voice emerged from the mass of bandages. If the teens hadn't recognized his voice, they would have never known that it was the short-tempered golfer in the bed.

"Yes, Duff," Kim answered. "The two of us…"

"Hey!" An offended squeak burst from Ron's pocket.

"The three of us are here," Kim finished, with an apologetic nod to Rufus.

"I've never understood why ye bring the wee critter with ye," Duff admitted. "But I guess that be yer own truck. Anyway, I asked for the two of ye…"

"Hey!" The squeak repeated.

"Er, the three of ye to come here to deal with the scoundrel what done this to me."

"Uh, Duff?" Ron interrupted. "This is pretty obviously an assault. Wouldn't the police be more appropriate?"

"Ah don't want to leave this lowlife to the Bobbies," Duff insisted. "The law be too good for the dastardly cretin that caught me with me kilt down!"

"That's so not an image I needed," Kim grumbled.

"He's th' lowest of the low," Duff continued, either not hearing or ignoring the heroine. "I've never had th' misfortune of meeting such a back-stabber, such a vile, violent, unthinking madman…"

"_This_, coming from _him_?" Ron whispered to Kim. Kim stifled a giggle and motioned Ron to be quiet, as Duff's tirade was winding down.

"Who did this to you?" She asked the wounded man.

"'Twas me cousin, Henry," Duff declared.

"I tell you, KP, cousins are five hundred miles of bad road," Ron interjected. "I've got Cousin Shawn, Drakken's got Motor Ed…"

"Why would your cousin do this to you?" Kim asked.

"Because he didn't approve of the oil I was using in me dirigible's engine."

For several long, uncomfortable seconds the two teens simply stared at the incapacitated golfer. Finally, Kim found her voice.

"You have so got to be kidding me!"

"I'm not fer twisting yer garters, lassie," Duff protested. "Ever since bad motor oil cost us our dear old gram, he's been a mite warped about petroleum."

"I'm going to hate myself for asking this," Kim murmured. "But what happened?"

"'Tis isn't all that complicated," Duff assured her. "Our sainted gram was living on her own, with only a valued family retainer for company. The man was a wee bit tightfisted, which we thought best at the time, controlling her expenses, don't ye know? Anyhow, he used cheap oil in her old car and the machine broke down while he was driving her to visit a neighbor on the next mountain."

"I'm not seeing how a car breaking down could cause you to lose your grandmother," Ron grumbled.

"Patience!" Duff snapped. "That's the problem with young people these days! Yer in too much of a rush. It's these new fangled sports and video games, I tell ye! Now, if ye'd show some more interest in the old and honorable game, ye'd have the patience and focus to appreciate a proper tale."

"Uh, Duff?" Kim interrupted. "You're getting a little far afield."

"Aye, me thoughts took a wicked hook. Anyway, this eld retainer was driving me sainted gram and they were well away from the nearest home or village when the cursed engine conks out from the lousy oil he was puttin' in it. Well, it was a horrid winter storm they were in and the lad was a good sort, if a little cheap. He told me gram to relax and he would seek help, so off he goes through the snow, rain and mud to find some help for the dear old lass."

"A proper gentleman," Ron commented.

"Aye, lad. Well, it didn't take long for him to find an overhangin' cliff that had a dry patch underneath it. The lad realized that it would take him some hours to get help for me gram and he realized that the dear old lady would be getting mighty cold in that car. So he starts up a bonfire, collects some extra firewood and uses a log to make a bench, a place where me gram can wait safe, warm and dry while he finds someone to help."

"Good thinking," Kim remarked.

"Aye. The lad settled me gram into her little shelter, which was quite comfortable for a hardy eld sort like her, and slogged off through the muck. Now, I don't know for sure what happened while he was gone, but me guess is that the local sheep knew about the overhang and showed up, seeking shelter. Me gram was a saint on earth, and would never chase the poor creatures out into the cold and rain, even though they were wearing wool."

"I didn't think sheep were all that dang..," Ron interrupted, only to be shouted down by an irate, if incapacitated, golfer.

"Can't ye remain silent and learn!?" Duff snapped at the boy. "Do ye have any idea how much damage a flock of sheep can do to a green?"

"But to a person?" Ron interrupted. "Even an older sort?"

"Aye, it wouldn't seem so bad," Duff replied, now starting to sob just a bit. "Anyway, ye modern youngsters might not realize that wool mats down a wee bit when it's wet, and fluffs up again when it dries. To the best anyone can guess, the sheep crowded into that bit of shelter with me gram and, with it being warm and dry, their fleeces dried out."

"I think I see where this is going," Kim muttered.

"Aye, lass," Duff was now sobbing openly. "With several drying, expanding sheep under the ledge, me gram never had a chance. When the retainer came back with the help, they found a packed mass of wool and mutton wedged into the meager shelter. It took them over an hour to clear all the sheep out so they could even get to me dear old gram. The poor eld gal had been snuggled to death."

"And your cousin blamed the bad oil for this?" Kim asked, deadpan.

"He's a driver and a pitching wedge short of a full set," Killigan informed her. "He's got some odd obsessions, don't ye know." Both Kim and Ron decided not to bring up Duff's attitude towards golf.

"Anyway, he's a bit of a genius, in his own way, and that's why I wanted the two of ye…"

"Hey!" Ron's pocket shouted, for a third time.

"Eye, the three of ye to deal with him."

"I was wondering why you didn't want the police to handle this," Kim told the mad golfer.

"Me cousin isn't a typical thug," Duff informed her. "First of all, he uses some sort of charged dipstick to pummel his victims. I don't know why he uses such odd weaponry." Visions of exploding golf balls in their heads, Kim and Ron remained silent.

"So I don't think the tw…the three of ye want what could happen to the Bobbies on yer conscience if they go up against him. Secondly, I told ye that he's a bit of a twisted genius. Before he dropped me off at a village clinic, he told me that he's finally found a way to eliminate poor quality oil, and that's to eliminate oil completely."

"How could he ever do that?" Ron asked.

"Me daft kinsman's come up with some new type of bacteria that feeds on oil," Duff replied. "He said that he only needed to grow a proper colony before making good on his plan and that me fertilizer vats, in me castle's basement, would work just fine. Now, the barmy lad can't help but yap on about his plans and he told me that he was going to take some of his bacteria to one of the drilling platforms in the North Sea and introduce the wee things into the North Sea Deposit. According to him, the buggies will turn the entire deposit into something resembling swamp muck in a couple of weeks."

"Did you get all that, Wade?" Kim asked into her Kimmunicator.

"Every word," the young genius replied. "I'm going to say that it's theoretically possible. Henry Killigan could potentially contaminate the entire North Sea Oil Deposit."

"That would be terrible!" Ron commented.

"Aye, laddie," Duff agreed. "Without any petrol, how will I keep me fairway trimmed and growing?"

"I was talking about the social, political and economic chaos that would result," Ron informed the wounded golfer. Suddenly, a proud smile burst onto the teen's face. "Hey, I'm using school words again!"

"Focus, Ron," Kim shook her head. "Duff, you said that he was using your castle to grow a colony of these bacteria?"

"Aye, lassie and he probably ruined a pretty good batch o' me special divot-fixing brew."

"So we have a chance of stopping him before he leaves your castle," Kim concluded. "Wade…"

"Setting up surveillance and arranging for transport as we speak," the youngster answered. "Energy use suggests that Henry is still in Castle Killigan. Your ride will be outside the hospital in fifteen."

"And I'm coming with ye," Duff declared, heaving himself to a sitting position.

"You don't seem to be in any shape for a mission," Ron pointed out. "You can't even stand."

"Oh, I can stand, laddie," Duff declared, surging to his unsteady feet. "The hurt me barmy kinsman's dipstick put on me will wear off before too long. When that happens, I'm hopin' to be right near the daft bugger."

Wade proved to be as efficient as ever. Team Possible, plus a wounded, irate golfer, left the hospital to find a delivery truck waiting for them. The delivery truck took them south, where a fishing boat picked them up for the trip to Duff's Island. Team Possible benefited by Duff's presence, as the island's owner was able to direct the boat to a narrow beach that the castle's security system didn't cover. Duff, recovering but still a little unsteady, led the way up a narrow ravine.

"This is the end o' me secret passage," he told the teens. "From here on in, it all depends on how much attention the knucklehead be paying to the outside o' me castle."

"Just how complicated is it to produce his bacteria?" Kim asked. "I mean, if he's needs to devote all of his attention to his plot, he won't be able to look for intruders."

"What would I know of the wee bugs, lassie?" Duff asked. "If you were to ask me how to sink a twenty-meter putt on a seven degree lay, I could give ye an earful. I do know that me tanks, what he said he'd be using, be down in the cellars. I don't have any o' me controls down there. If he be down there, he'll have to get up to the banquet room before he can unleash any o' me surprises on us."

"So, let's assume that he's working on something and he doesn't know we're here," Kim suggested. "Let's go in fast and not give him a chance to react." Not waiting for an answer, Kim charged towards the castle. After hesitating for only a moment, Ron ran after her, leaving Killigan behind.

Kim had a very good memory so she was able to recall her route, from that long-ago mission when she first met Will Du, to the cellars. She rushed through the front doors, which weren't even locked. (Who would want to break into a criminal enforcer's home?) She went through the foyer with a series of handsprings, just in case Henry was aiming something at her. Barely pausing to admire the globe painted upon a giant golf ball (clearly Duff's idea of art) she exited the foyer and charged into the Banquet Hall. Wanting to present a difficult target, the redhead hopped onto the table and ran its length, hoping Duff would forgive her for any damage she inflicted upon his ancestral cutlery.

Leaping from the table, Kim performed a flip through the rear doorway and into the service corridor, which ran between the Banquet Hall and the kitchen. She executed an impressive, horizontal spring from the service corridor's wall, keeping off the floor and, hopefully, confusing anyone who may be tracking her. Bursting into the kitchen, she quickly located the narrow door to one of the cellar's stairways. Suddenly, she found herself sprawling forward, a confusing combination of pain and numbness shooting through her left leg.

"I be thinkin' with me dipstick, Jimmy," a voice taunted her as she recovered, somersaulting forward and jumping to her feet.

"Or should I say Jenny?" Now Kim spotted her assailant. The man had only a minor resemblance to Duff. While Duff was large, bulky and wore traditional Scottish attire, this man was small, slight and wore mechanics coveralls. Instead of Duff's golf clubs, this man brandished a glowing dipstick. As Kim watched, the dipstick's glow faded.

"Henry Killigan?" Kim asked, testing her left leg. It was numb and barely responsive. Clearly, her usual acrobatics were no longer an option.

"Aye," the small man nodded. "And I'm recognizing you, yer Kim Possible and ye must be here to stop me plans. Give it up, lass. I took out me own cousin and I'll not be stopped by a wee lass. I heard yer kin were rich, haven't they been feedin' ye?" The dipstick-wielding thug delivered the last remark while pointedly looking Kim up and down.

Kim hated to admit it, but he struck a nerve. While she didn't really mind not being 'blessed' with certain attributes (especially since Ron was quite smitten with her in form fitting attire) comments about her weight still got to her. Several media sources, Rita Richards being one of them, openly speculated that she suffered from an eating disorder. Those same sources seemed completely oblivious of the fact that she was capable of performing physical acts very few people could match and thus must be healthy.

"And did your parents hang a weight around your neck?" Kim retorted. Years of verbal duels with Bonnie had Kim ready to banter with the best. "You're quite the shrimp compared to your cousin, aren't you?"

"Maybe," Henry snarled back. "But I can think with me dipstick!" The small man charged forward, his odd weapon shrieking through the air.

"I so didn't need to hear that," Kim grumbled. The redhead, of course, hadn't been idle during the verbal exchange. The little bit of dialogue had given her the chance to pick up a large ladle. Almost contemptuously, she swatted the thin metal weapon away and followed up with a solid strike to Henry's head. He staggered backwards; saved by the fact that Kim's numbed leg wouldn't allow her to pursue him.

"So ye think yer clever, do ye?" Henry shouted at her and came on again. His dipstick began to glow again and when Kim blocked the strike this time, a jolt shot through the ladle and numbed her right hand. "Ye'd think that someone as smart as ye would know that metal conducts electricity," Henry gloated as the redhead dropped the ladle. "Now we'll see if ye can hold up as well as me own cous…Ooof!"

Ron Stoppable plowed into the insane mechanic from behind, tackling him and forcing the air out of his lungs. Unfortunately for the teen, his own velocity carried him over his stunned foe. By the time Ron recovered, Henry was back on his feet.

"Ah wondered when the sidekick would show up," Henry snarled. "Now I'll take care of both of ye…eh?" Henry was more than a little put off when a sword suddenly appeared in Ron's hand. Still, the mad mechanic wouldn't be intimidated. He lunged forward again.

"Ron, no!" Kim tried to warn her boyfriend. "Not a metal weap…"

Dipstick met sword and Ron dropped the Lotus Blade, having just learned that mystic metal conducted electricity as well as kitchenware.

"…on." Kim finished, as Ron clung to his numbed hand.

"Ye American teens don't learn, do ye?" Henry gloated. "I heard that ye own a fine motorcycle, lad. I bet ye don't even care to put proper motor oil in it."

"Synthetics are synthetics," Ron shrugged.

"Oh, ye should be thinking with yer dipstick, Jimmy!" Henry shrieked.

"Dude!" Ron shrieked back. "There's a lady present!"

"Never mind, Ron!" Kim grumbled as Ron managed to jump over the slash Henry aimed at his thigh. The blonde teen ran to his girlfriend and slipped her left arm over his neck. With Ron assisting Kim, the two had just taken their first steps to flee the area when Henry kicked a large kettle off of a range top. The kettle landed at the teens' feet, spewing a mass of sticky, smelly brown glop onto the floor and around their feet.

"I'm guessing that this is Duff's special divot-fixing brew," Kim grumbled, unable to move her feet.

"Aye, it has a fair bit o' molasses mixed in and it should keep ye out of trouble while I finish me plans," Henry snickered. "But I still owe the daft lad for that remark about all synthetics being the same." He stalked forward, flexing his deadly dipstick….

Only to shriek in pain as a nine-iron slammed into his right buttock.

"So how do ye like being caught with yer kilt down?" Duff Killigan growled as his cousin stumbled away from him.

"So yer sidin' with outsiders over yer own kin?" Henry snarled back. "I thought ye valued your family, Duffie."

"Aye, but if ye win, me course will be hard to keep green, won't it? Do ye know how hard it is to play from a dead, uncut fairway?"

"That's not important, Duffie," Henry taunted. "You should be thinking with yer dipstick!"

"You think he could give that line a rest?" Ron grumbled.

"Typical male," Kim huffed.

"What was that?" Ron looked up from where he was trying to wrench one of Kim's feet out of the sticky mass.

"I said he's sure to fail," Kim answered, quickly. "C'mon, let's get free of this stuff!"

Henry punctuated his statement by slashing at Duff. Duff blocked the strike with his nine-iron. Kim, Ron and Henry all expected Duff to drop his club. To their surprise, the golfer seemed unaffected.

"I'm not one for new equipment," Duff chuckled at his surprised cousin. "I much prefer a traditional, leather grip but a rubber grip seemed more appropriate for this game. 'Tis a poor player indeed that doesn't take the field into account." Duff punctuated his statement by taking a swing at his cousin. Henry barely dodged the blow and slashed again, only to have Duff block his strike, once again.

"KP?" Ron asked his girlfriend, as the two of them struggled to extricate their feet from the horrid mess.

"Yeah?"

"Are we seeing what I think we're seeing?"

"Two Scotsmen fighting, one with a charged dipstick and the other with a nine-iron?"

"While we're stuck to a castle floor by a mass of fertilizer?" Ron added.

"I'd say that sums the sitch up pretty well," Kim informed him.

"Maybe dad's right and I should try to become an actuary," Ron mused. "I bet dad never found himself in a situation like this."

"Focus, Ron," Kim instructed, slipping her feet out of her shoes. Ron helped her to leap free from the puddle of goo. With her thigh still numbed, Kim fell to the ground but at least she was free. Ron quickly followed her lead, slipping his feet out of his shoes and leaping away from the sticky trap.

While the teens were freeing themselves, the cousins continued to fight. Henry managed a couple of hits to Duff's shoulders, but the golfer's thick, woolen sweater shielded him from the jolts' worst effects. Henry, unfortunately, had to get a little too close to his hulking cousin to deliver the shots. Duff drove the business end of his nine-iron into the mechanic's belly, driving the wind out of his lungs. While Henry gasped for air, Duff smashed the iron onto his wrist, un-dipsticking ("_or would it be dis-dipsticking?_" Ron thought) the maniacal mechanic. Henry could only gawk in shock as Duff deftly hooked the club head into his coverall's collar and pulled him close, where his face met the golfer's fist. Henry promptly dropped like a marionette with cut strings.

For several, endless seconds, Duff and Team Possible contemplated each other. Although they had just worked together, they were hardly on friendly terms.

"It seems a mite odd," Duff finally declared. "But ah don't want te fight ye. The terms o' me parole are quite strict. Instead, I'd be most grateful if ye'd help me destroy the vat o' little buggies me cousin brewed up."

"Got it!" Rufus squeaked, scampering out of the stairwell and up Ron's leg.

"Wha?" Duff gasped. "Ye mean to tell me that the wee rodent killed off me cousin's buggies?"

"That was the plan," Kim replied, with a self-satisfied smirk.

"But how?" Duff demanded.

"By adjusting the temperature in your fertilizer vats," Wades answered, from the Kimmunicator. "We knew that your vats had temperature control so while Kim and Ron tangled with Henry, Rufus sneaked down to the cellars and cranked up the heat. The bacteria can't handle the higher temperatures. While the authorities will incinerate the colonies, just to be sure, they should already be neutralized." Wade took a smug sip from his slurpster. "Speaking of the authorities, the local police will be arriving in the next few minutes to pick up Henry."

"You rock, like always Wade," Kim complimented the boy.

"Aye, that ye do," Duff admitted. "Well, it would be churlish o' me to not offer ye me castle's hospitality. I can whip up a batch o' me dear, sainted gram's haggis for ye."

"Er, we probably should be getting back home," Ron replied, covering the fact that Kim's skin was beginning to match her eyes' color. "We're getting ready to start college, so we should spend time with our families."

"A pity lad," Duff sighed. "I'd 'ave been honored to treat ye to a fine meal o' haggis, with a bottle o' fine scotch. It's been far too long since I've had company. That be one o' the problems with being a criminal."

"Kim! Ron!" Wade interrupted from the Kimmunicator. The teens found this to be more than a little bit of a relief.

"Go Wade!" Kim answered.

"We've got an emergency request from Senior Senior Senior," the young genius told his friends.

"Have all th' worlds villains gone soft?" Duff pondered. "I mean, the two of ye…"

"Hey!"

"Er, the three of ye are helping our sort now?"

"Anybody who needs help gets it," Kim informed him. "What's the sitch, Wade?"

"Camille Senior is missing."

* * *

_A/N: _

_Once again, I'm compelled to mention that the insane, dipstick-wielding Scottsman isn't my property. He's off somewhere, happily encouraging men to purchase a certain brand of motor oil and to 'think with your dipstick, Jimmy'._

_I must also thank Joe Stoppinghem for beta reading this story. _

_Finally, thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this little yarn._

_Until my next update, best wishes;_

_daccu65_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

"Gee mom you look…great," Felix told his mother as she emerged from her room. "Where are you going?"

"I'm meeting with Slim Possible," she answered. "You know we've been working on the latest interplanetary probe project? Well, we have a very narrow launch window and we're putting in some serious overtime to get ready for it."

"At seven thirty in the evening?" Felix mused.

"Sometimes the atmosphere at the space center isn't the best for brainstorming," Mrs. Renton informed her son. "We thought that a more relaxed setting would be more conducive to decision making."

"You're not wearing your usual work clothes," Felix remarked. Stepping closer to his mother, he took an exaggerated sniff. "And do I detect a hint of perfume? Where is this meeting taking place, anyway?"

"Riverna's," the doctor admitted.

"I'm willing to bet that neither one of you will be submitting the bill for tonight's _**meeting**_ to the space center's financial office, will you?"

"Well, no."

"So is it safe for me to assume that space-deployed robotics won't be the only topic for conversation?"

"Well, yes."

"Aren't you going to tell me not to wait up?"

"Felix," Dr. Renton almost pleaded with her son. "Please don't make this hard for me! It's been so long since I've felt this way about anyone and had them feel the same way about me!"

"Mom…" Felix tried to interrupt, to no avail.

"I loved your father, but he was taken away from me, from us, too soon. You're a wonderful son and my friends and colleagues are wonderful but I'm still….lonely."

"Mom…"

"So don't read too much into this. Yes, it's a date. Keep in mind that it's with someone I've gotten to know on a casual, even professional basis before accepting the date so you can hardly classify me as a lonely old woman out chasing men."

"Mom!"

"Yes, Felix?"

"Good luck."

"What?"

"Just what I said, mom. Good luck. I hope you enjoy yourself tonight."

"You mean, you don't think I'm doing something wrong?"

"Mom, like you said, you've been lonely. If you and Mr. Possible enjoy each other's company, what's the problem?"

"Well, it's been so long," Dr. Renton stammered. "How do I look?"

"I already said you look great, mom. Just be ready to pick his chin up off the ground when he sees you. Are you picking him up, is he picking you up, or are you meeting there?"

"He's picking me up," Dr. Renton answered, glancing at her watch. "In forty-five minutes."

"Getting ready in plenty of time?" Felix's grin was very wide.

"I haven't exactly had a great deal of dating experience lately, young man. I don't want to give the wrong impression."

"Don't let him see you waiting at the window," Felix suggested. "If us guys ever know that you're looking forward to the date that much, we'll get the wrong idea. Also, don't sprint down the sidewalk the moment he shows up. We don't want to look too eager, do we? Finally, why don't you invite him in so I can lay down some ground rules, you know, curfew and acceptable behavior?"

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Every moment," Felix confirmed, now with the widest smile his mother had ever seen him sport. "But I'm serious, I hope you have a good time tonight."

_**Meanwhile, back at the Possibles...**_

"Why Slim, you look downright dashing."

"Thanks, Annie," Slim Possible turned a slow pirouette in front of his sister-in-law. "Can you see anything terribly out of place?"

Ann hid a grin from her usually-confident-suddenly-nervous brother-in-law. Indeed, he was dressed similar to how James dressed for their infrequent dates but with a few, subtle differences that identified him as a rancher. First of all, his slacks and shirt had a western cut. He wore a bolo tie rather than a necktie and his ever-present Stetson was in his hand, ready to go on his head the moment he stepped outside. Finally, he wore boots rather than dress shoes, although it was obvious he had spent some quality time with the polish before putting them on.

"You look fine, Slim," Ann assured the man.

"I ain't imposing any by leaving Joss here, am I?" He asked. "I know she can be a handful."

"Oh, she and the boys do a good job of keeping each other company," Ann assured him. "Now, go out and treat Dr. Renton like a proper lady. It's been too long since she's had a gentleman caller."

"You wouldn't be a-rootin' fer me and her to get together since she works with your husband now, would y'all?" Slim's expression, although still nervous, now looked a bit teasing.

"Oh, hush you! Dr. Renton's a fine woman. She should have someone to share things with."

"Annie, I think y'all might be readin' a bit more into this than y' should. It's just a first date."

"Yes, but we all have to start somewhere. Now, when are you picking her up?"

"In about a half-hour," Slim answered, with a quick glance at his watch.

"Whoa, pa!" Joss exclaimed. The young girl gave up pursuing her cousins' flying robot to gawk at her father. "You look like you're gettin' set to do some courtin'! Who's the lady?"

"Dr. Renton." Ann answered.

"Really!?" Tim exclaimed, as he and Jim showed up.

"Felix's mom?!" Jim added.

"That's the one, boys," Ann told her sons.

"Unreal!" They both exclaimed.

"I bet when you came here to work on space robots, you never expected to take a load of cooties back home with you!" Jim said.

"Yeah, do you have to get a permit to carry them over the state line?" Tim asked.

"Enough boys," Ann came to her now-blushing brother-in-law's rescue. "Why don't you see if you can make your robot break Mach 2? I have a bet with your father that you can't do it."

"Bad bet, mom," the twins said, in unison. The two boys just about set the carpet on fire, running to the garage.

"B'sides, cooties aren't livestock," Joss said, falling in step with her cousins. "They're more like pests and I didn't see any inspection stations on the border when we came here!"

"Gettin' them three together might have been dangerous," Slim commented.

"Oh, they don't see enough of each other the way it is," Ann patted his arm. "I just wish Kimmie could be here to spend some more time with your daughter. They really are like sisters."

"Speakin' of courtin', how's she and her beau doin'?" Slim asked.

"As close as ever," Ann smiled back. "I know that they're just teens, but they've been through so much together! I'm really hoping they go the distance."

"Y'know, if she drops him, Joss just might be there to snatch him up!" Slim teased.

"Hush, you!" Ann giggled. "You're just dreading the day when that little firebrand brings her first boyfriend home."

"That's about the truth of it," Slim admitted.

"Slim, could I have a word with you?" Dr. James Possible asked, now approaching his brother.

"It's gonna have to be quick, squirt. I don't wanna be late. Dr. Renton's a fine lady and I don't want her a-thinkin' that I can't read a watch."

"This is about Dr. Renton," James assured his older brother. "Now, Dr. Renton is a lady and I expect you to treat her as such."

"I never thought..." Slim tried to say, only to have his younger brother interrupt him.

"So mind your manners and conduct yourself in a way that would make dad proud, if he were still around."

"Wait one cotton-pickin' minute!" Slim exclaimed, speaking up to be heard over Ann's giggles. "Is this a repeat of the lecture I gave you when you started datin' Annie here?"

"If I here from anyone that you shamed the Possible name, you'll be dealing with me!"

"I think you're enjoying the payback a little too much, squirt. Yer just lucky I'm all gussied up, or I'd take you down and rub your face in the grass, just like old times."

"Now, go out and show her a nice time," James concluded.

"Well, since my dating life has given everyone here some amusement, I guess I'm free to go," Slim tried to look hurt, but was grinning too much.

"Slim?" Ann interrupted his walk to the door.

"Yeah, Annie?"

"Here's hoping that James didn't have any more luck putting you off with that speech than you did making him behave, all those years ago."

"Ann!" James Possible looked honestly shocked.

"Ah always knew you had an ornery side, Squirt," Slim chuckled, planting his Stetson on his head. "And we just might have to go out behind the woodshed, or whatever y'all have in the city, to talk it over. Now, don't nobody wait up for me." With that, Slim Possible stalked out the door for his first date in over a dozen years.

* * *

Camille Senior came aware without realizing that she had been out. As a dedicated party girl, it wasn't a new experience for her but she felt a great deal more unpleasant than she usually did. Before opening her eyes, she tried to recall what had gotten her into this situation in the first place. She remembered lifting credit cards from her three friends, then partying with them before going to the concert. After the concert, she had failed to hook up with one of the Oh Boyz, so she and her three friends just went out and started partying again. If fact she hadn't actually stopped partying that night. The four girls had simply kept partying until it was time for the other three to catch their private jet back home. Camille had waved them goodbye from the airfield, then taken their credit cards for an extended shopping spree.

While some...okay, most people wouldn't consider Camille a particularly intelligent example of the human race, she was able to learn from her mistakes. She had taken advantage of her father-in-law's villainy consultants and worked out a plan before leaving the island. She put these lessons into play. Her first move was to impersonate Heather and use the girl's credit card to buy three new outfits, with some expensive accessories.

After using Heather's credit card, Camille morphed had into Stacy, changed clothes and gone on a major gold-buying spree. Camille was an experienced shopper, so it didn't take her long to max out the head-banging heiress's limit. At this point, Camille morphed into Marcy and ran off to purchase gemstones. While Camille didn't know much about precious stones, she had been coached fairly well. Again, she quickly maxed out the card.

Camille had morphed back into Heather and was getting ready to sell off her purchases for cash, when her memory went blank. She had been so proud of herself for following the consultant's instructions; not buying any custom jewelry, just the raw materials that would be difficult to trace. She had no idea what had happened to her. All she knew was that she had one of the worst headaches in her life.

"Oh, my head," she gasped, wincing at her own whispered voice's volume.

"That's surprising," a pleasant voice remarked. While the voice was pleasant and light, Camille could feel the smirk behind it. "I wouldn't think there could be anything in there to cause pain."

Camille opened her eyes, intent on returning the insult, and immediately regretted it. The light, which was probably quite dim, stabbed into her eyes like a thousand knives. Instead of snarling an insult, she decided to ask a question, "What happened?"

"Ah, intelligent conversation. Quite a surprise coming from you. What happened is that you were foolish enough to cross the wrong people before leaving your sanctuary."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that you ran afoul of a neural disrupter."

Camille opened her eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to the light. Now that she could see, she recognized...

"T-Trudy Dementor?"

"And I didn't think you could remember a face for more than a week! Actually, you probably can remember faces, mimicking people is your career, isn't it?"

"Are you the one who nerdilly dusted up me?"

"It's called a neural disrupter," Trudy informed her captive, with a roll of her eyes. "A very precise electrical shock, designed to render you comatose for several hours. Although you probably don't know geography from geology, it might interest you to know that you're no longer in Spain. At this moment, you are above Belgium."

"But...but why did you shock me?"

"My father and I have plans for you. Of course, since I would be forced to use words with more than three syllables to explain what we're doing, I won't waste my time. Let's just say that you'll be doing a lot of morphing in the near future and, if you do what we tell you, we won't inflict very much pain."

"Speaking of pain, why does my head hurt? Did your shocky thingy give me this headache?"

"No. You did that yourself. You were drinking heavily for more than twenty-four hours before I shocked you. The neural disrupter's only side effect is minor muscle aches. You earned your own hangover. This may sound a little odd coming from a German to an American, but you can really hold your liquor, can't you?"

"Speaking of holding..." Camille glanced around.

"The door right behind you," Trudy smirked. "By the way, don't try anything. First of all, there's a locked belt around your waist, ready to shock you again. Secondly, even if you manage to get away, you're over a thousand meters in the air. I don't think you can morph into a form that can fly."

Camille staggered into the bathroom and took care of business. Once finished, and after washing her face, she felt much more human. Putting on her superior air, she stalked back into the cabin where Trudy was waiting. Now that she could actually focus her eyes, Camille noticed that Trudy's bodyguard from the contest was accompanying her.

"Very well," Trudy nodded. "We might as well be civil about this, have a seat." The girl gestured towards a comfortable seat. Not seeing any reason to not be comfortable, Camille took the seat.

"Are you thirsty," Trudy asked, offering her unwilling guest a popular brand of bottled water.

"Is this, like, water?" Camille demanded.

"I don't think you want anything stronger," Trudy sniggered. "I'm not a doctor and your physiology isn't exactly normal, but I'm pretty sure you need to re-hydrate more than you need to get a buzz. After all, we're going to need you in working order."

"Just what are your plans for me?" Camille demanded.

"Like I told you earlier, we're going to study some aspects of your morphing ability. If you're a good little half-wit, and do what we tell you, we won't need to punish you. On the other hand, if you create trouble for us, things will get very unpleasant."

"I think you've just made enough trouble for yourself," Camille sneered back. "Are you forgetting that I'm Senior's daughter-in-law now? He's like, the richest villain in the world! When Junior figures out that you've taken me, he's going to have, like, all sorts of bad guys coming to rescue me."

Both Trudy and Hendle broke out in helpless laughter. For several minutes, Camille could only glare at them in enraged confusion.

"You don't know your husband very well, do you?" Trudy finally gasped out. "We studied his habits before I entered that contest. Trust me, Junior won't miss you, at least not enough to put together any real effort to win you back. Even if he somehow puzzles out who took you, he won't put forth the effort to track you down. In fact, I'm willing to bet that he's looking for some female consolation right now."

Camille struggled to retain her haughty expression in the face of her suspicions that Trudy had spoken the truth.

* * *

"Miss Possible, thank you for coming on such short notice," Senior Senior Senior, ever the gentleman, struggled to his feet as Kim and Ron walked into his office.

"It was no big," Kim assured him, wondering at how much the old man had aged in just a few weeks. "We were in the neighborhood anyway. Well, in the neighborhood by our definition."

"Please be seated, both of you," Senior said, smiling at Kim's quip. The teens hastened to sit, knowing that Senior would remain standing until after his guests were seated. Both Kim and Ron breathed sighs of relief when the old man sagged back into his chair.

"Your technical support man has undoubtedly told you that my daughter-in-law," the man's face showed a great deal of distaste when he announced Camille's title. "Has vanished. We suspect foul play."

"Uh, Mr. Senior?" Ron interrupted. "Are you sure she didn't just run off? I mean, she can be anybody, so if she doesn't want anyone to find her, nobody will."

"I considered this," Senior admitted. "But I am not so fortunate to have her willingly leave. She left her spoiled cat, Debutante, behind. While I do not believe that Camille has any real affection for any person, I can't picture her willingly separating herself from her cat for more than a few days."

"You're not so fortunate?" Kim asked. "I take it you've had some second thoughts about the contest's outcome?"

"Indeed, Miss Possible. When I envisioned the contest, I was expecting to match my son with a lovely and devious young woman. Instead, I matched him with a shallow, vain and spoiled girl. I understand," Senior quickly raised a hand to forestall either teen from commenting. "I know that my son is also shallow, vain and spoiled. However, I was hoping to match him with someone who could overcome these traits, rather than enhance them."

"Where..." Kim began, only to be interrupted.

"Father!" Junior exclaimed, bursting into the elder Senior's office. "It has been almost a full day and there is still no sign of my one true love!"

"I know, Junior," Senior replied in his patient, long-suffering voice. "I am acquiring assets and information in an effort to locate and recover her."

"Perhaps this would be a good time to update you," Elisabeth Minated added, walking through the same doorway Junior had just burst through.

"Indeed, Miss Minated," Senior nodded to his advisor. "Miss Minated, I believe that you are acquainted with Kim Possible. Miss Possible, you were probably unaware that I have hired Miss Minated, in a villainous managerial position. Miss Minated, I have requested Miss Possible's assistance in locating and recovering my..." here, the old man flinched..."daughter-in-law."

"It's Team P..." Kim began, only to fall silent when Ron shook his head. Since the recognition wasn't important to Ron, she wouldn't push the issue.

"Very well," Elisabeth nodded towards the teens. "Then you might be interested in this, as well. Camille left the island two days ago, to attend an Oh Boyz concert in Barcelona." Elly pointedly ignored the disgusted grunt Junior huffed upon hearing the band's name. "She had a backstage pass, just like three of her friends. All four bimb...er...young women also had luxury accommodations on the same floor of the same hotel."

"Sort of a get together?" Kim asked.

"It seems likely. Anyway, the three Americans had a private jet scheduled to take them home, after the concert. It took off and landed on time."

"Did Camille stow away on board?' Ron asked. "She's a little flighty, she might have just wanted to go shopping at a favorite mall, or eat at a favorite restaurant."

"I don't think so," Elly answered. "Three girls and two flight crew left America for Spain, three girls and two flight crew left Spain for America and three girls and two flight crew checked through American customs. While it's possible she impersonated one of the crew or her friends, I can't picture her leaving her cat behind. In fact, she was thinking of her cat before she left."

"How so?" Kim asked.

Elisabeth explained Camille's plan to purchase jewel-encrusted dinnerware for her cat. "In addition, she asked some of our...other experts...about how to acquire the wealth she needed," Elisabeth concluded. "I have already questioned these people. They and Camille had decided that a combination of credit card theft and impersonation would be her best way to get the wealth. She thought that she would both gain the wealth and impress her father-in-law at the same time."

"You get that, Wade?" Kim asked her tech support, knowing that he was listening in over the Kimmunicator.

"On it," he answered. "Checking records now."

"She thinks small," Senior remarked. "While thievery is an aspect of villainy, it is merely villainy at its most simple and basic. Why rob when you can extort? Why steal when you can control?" Why be content robbing from your friends when you can manipulate the world's wealth and make it your own?" The old man shook his head.

"I thought you had given up the take over the world schemes," Ron pointed out, tilting his head slightly to invite Senior to explain.

"I have, officially,' Senior answered, with a sly grin. "That adds to the challenge, knowing that if you do not disguise your schemes well enough, several regional navies will band together to crush your lair. I have given up taking over the world by violent means but not by subtle, manipulative means."

"Got it!" Wade's voice announced from the Kimmunicator. Each of Camille's friends has a credit card, which was used to make purchases in Barcelona _**after**_ their plane took off. The purchases included some clothing and a lot of gold and gemstones."

"Disguises, followed by items which can be easily converted into currency," Senior commented. "That is a very good way to operate." Upon seeing the odd looks that his audience gave him, he continued, "just because I have grown beyond such actions doesn't mean that I do not admire thievery, when it is well executed."

"Then what?" Kim asked Wade.

"I've got nothing," Wade admitted. "After enough purchases to pretty much max out the cards, no activity and no sightings. Of course, it isn't hard for Camille to vanish. To the best I've been able to determine, she didn't even sell off the valuables she bought. That's the only reason I suspect foul play."

"We'll start to investigate here," Kim informed him. "Maybe we can dig up some more for you to work with."

"I'll be here," Wade acknowledged.

"But...why are you not rushing off to recover my wife?" Junior demanded. "I thought that was why we brought you here!"

"Where are they to go Junior?" Senior asked his son. "We must determine where she is before we can recover her. In addition, we cannot ask law enforcement for assistance, since she is a convicted criminal."

"But, what about me in the meantime?" The younger Senior demanded. "I have spent my life trying to find love, only to have it taken from me! My heart is breaking!" He glanced towards Kim. "Only the company of my Blue Fox can possibly salve the wound to my heart!"

"So not happening Junior," Kim snarled back. "You're more likely to get eviscerated than salved."

"What is eviscerated?" Junior asked.

"Something very bad and painful." Ron informed him.

"Oh," Junior's expression dropped again. "So perhaps my northern rose would be so kind to console me in my hour of distress?" He asked, with a hopeful look towards Elisabeth.

"Not very likely," Elisabeth answered. "Kim, may I call you Kim?"

Kim nodded.

"I have to be honest, I've been trading emails with Trudy Dementor ever since Camille beat us. Trudy seemed very interested in Camille's trip to Barcelona."

"So you think that Professor Dementor might be behind Camille's disappearance?" Senior asked. "For what purpose?"

"Probably financial," Kim answered. "The major villains can't use their usual, threaten the entire world extortion schemes anymore, at least not without risking various military forces crushing them. I don't think Dementor ever developed the construction facilities that Drakken did, so he probably needs money. I'm pretty sure you'll be getting some sort of ransom communication before long."

"Assuming it is Dementor," Ron pointed out. "Let's not narrow our search down too much."

"True enough," Kim smiled at her boyfriend. "But Dementor is all we have to go with at the moment. I'll call up Wade and we'll have Elisabeth give us her whole story. We don't even know where Dementor is holing up right now, so it may take us a while to track him down."

"With my heart breaking with every hour!" Junior declared. "Who will help me bear with my loss?"

"Your shower, dude!" Ron answered. "Just use plenty of cold water and you'll be fine."

"I do not like this suggestion," Junior informed him. "I would much rather find comfort in the affections of a sympathetic, yet incredibly hot, young woman. Do you know if Bonnie Rockwaller is busy at this time?"

"Dude! Your wife's been missing for what, sixteen hours?"

"It feels like an eternity."

"You will endure Junior," Senior spoke up. "And you will do so without interfering with either Miss Possible or Miss Minated. Young Mr. Stoppable's suggestion is quite sound. Miss Possible, it may take you a number of days to track down Professor Dementor's whereabouts, then determine if he is holding my daughter-in-law. May I offer you and your companion the same quarters you utilized during your previous stay?"

"That would be most welcome," Kim nodded. "We packed overnight bags but we weren't prepared for an extended stay."

"Then it will be my pleasure to equip you with additional apparel," Senior smiled. "While my servants prepare your quarters, why don't you interview Miss Minated? I would very much like to remain involved in your search. While I am not a crime fighter, I may be able to provide additional insights, from a villain's perspective."

Nobody could come up with a better plan, so Elisabeth described all of her communications with her employer and Team Possible. Despite the fact that some of the terms she used to describe Camille were less than complimentary, she willingly provided Wade with copies of their communications. The young genius was almost salivating, he was so eager to get to work.

"But Mr. Lode," Senior addressed the young man. "What can you determine from such incomplete information?"

"I should be able to trace the emails' source, to a certain extent," Wade told the old man. "This will narrow my search for Dementor down to a rough area. Once there, I have other means to use to find his exact location."

"What are these?" Senior wanted to know.

"Mr. Senior," the youngster answered. "You are still a villain, so I'd rather not let you in on my operating methods."

"I understand, Mr. Lode," Senior actually smiled at the young man. "Now, Miss Minated, please continue your correspondence with Miss Dementor as if nothing has happened. Feel free to speak about Camille's disappearance, but do not let her know that we suspect her. If we can keep the Dementors believing that we do not suspect them, they will be unlikely to take extraordinary means to conceal themselves. Now, I would like all of you to leave, with the exception of Team Possible. I have some private words I would like to exchange with them."

Kim felt a little nervous as the rest of Senior's audience filed out of the room. Sure, the old villain had been a total gentleman but the key word was _**villain**_.

"Miss Possible and Mr. Stoppable," their host began. "I have no doubt that you are very troubled about my calling you to assist me with this issue. Please, voice your concerns so that I can deal with them at this time."

"Why don't I start?" Ron suggested. "It looks like you aren't exactly heartbroken that Camille isn't here right now. Why are you going to the effort to get her back? I mean, sure, it's the right thing to do but you're a villain. Shouldn't you be doing the wrong thing and just abandoning her?"

"A very good point, Mr. Stoppable. You are correct that I am not upset that my daughter-in-law is not with us. You are further correct in that I would ordinarily rejoice that she is gone and not put forth the effort to recover her. However, as much as it pains me to say it, she is now family. As such, it is my duty as a patriarch to defend her. This means that I am obligated, by rules older than any law, to exert my utmost effort to locate and bring her safely back to her home."

"I blundered when I held the contest," Senior admitted. "I had thought to link my son to a clever, determined young woman. Miss Possible, I would have dearly loved to have seen you at my son's side...please let me finish!" The old man held up a hand, seeing the outraged looks on his guests' faces. "Miss Possible, I would have loved to see you linked to my son, however I can see that this could never be. First, you are a woman of action and would have been most discontented upon my island. Secondly, I can see that you and Mr. Stoppable have something truly special, something that has taken most of your lives to establish and that very few will ever experience."

"Rather than provide my son with a complimentary match, I fear I performed a disservice to both my son and his bride," Senior continued. "I hope to have time to rectify my error but I must meet my commitment first. Now, your expert and my experts are attempting to determine Dementor's whereabouts, so that we may determine if he is holding my son's wife. The two of you are weary from your earlier travels, so why don't you retire and rest up? I suspect that when we locate Dementor, you will need to be at your peak capability."

"Thank you, Senior," Kim replied, answering for the team. Moments later, one of Senior's servants arrived and escorted them to their quarters. The two teens didn't think about the sleeping arrangements, they simply crawled into the same bed, cuddled close to each other, and drifted off to sleep. Senior sat at his desk for a long time, wishing that his son was more like young Mr. Stoppable, and had found a bride like Miss Possible.

* * *

As Team Possible's three field operatives drifted to sleep on a Mediterranean Island, an oversized yet very attractive woman was hard at work outside of Seattle. Warmonga had just gotten off of the phone with Willie, the rogue doctor who had helped Monty and the hussy conceive. Now, he was offering her the zygotes that he did not need to use. Of course, Warmonga was going to purchase them, no matter the cost. However, the renegade geneticist now wondered if they would lead her to her goal.

Over the past several weeks, she had kept careful track of her developing Shego and Stoppable clones and couldn't detect any genetic precursors that would explain their superhuman powers. While Warmonga still had _some_ hopes for the zygotes that Willie was offering, she didn't have _much_ hope. A truly competent scientist knew her science's limitations and Warmonga was fairly certain that she had found just such a limitation. She was about ninety percent certain that neither Shego's nor Stoppable's powers were genetic in origin.

Warmonga heaved a massive sigh and leaned back in her reinforced chair, setting her feet on her oversized desk. She still wanted to take her revenge on both Shego and Stoppable but first, she wanted to harness their powers. The only way she could be certain of replicating their abilities was to accomplish the act while they were still alive. Once they were gone, she would have no test subjects. She understood genetics, it was outside influences that she couldn't comprehend.

Okay, what did she know? She knew that Shego and her brothers gained their powers when a comet struck near them, actually contacting the tree house they were playing in at the time. Warmanga could hardly replicate this act consistently. Instead, would have to replicate the specific influence this impact had on the children. She was fairly certain that the comet's heat and impact didn't cause the physiological change. There must have been some sort of radiation that bathed the children, giving them their powers, but where could she find such a source now? The only remnant she knew about was...the children themselves? Could they be used as radiation sources?

For a moment, Warmonga discarded this possibility. After all, Drew had worked in Shego's close proximity for years without developing any extraordinary abilities. He had been blue well before he met the hussy. Monty had much closer contact with Shego and Warmonga hadn't heard about him showing any effects. Of course, both men were adults. Warmonga had never heard of Shego having prolonged, close contact with children, whose bodies were still forming. Suddenly, Warmonga's face broke into a predatory smile.

Why not take the best of both worlds, genetics and physics? Shego's powers were probably caused by the comet's radiation, but maybe she was genetically predisposed towards assimilating the radiation. Therefore, the best candidate for replicating her powers would both have her genetics and close contact with the radiation in her body.

Like the baby that was even now developing in her womb!

Warmonga did some quick, mental arithmetic, staring at a calendar. Assume Willie waited about a month after being sure that the procedure took, before informing her that the zygotes were available. Add eight months, then another two to make sure and...

"June," she said out loud. "I'll want to acquire my new asset in June of next year."

Okay, that took care of Shego, now what about Stoppable? What did she know about his power? Ron Stoppable's power was subtler than Shego's. He almost looked like an extremely well trained martial artist. However, Warmonga had both seen him glow blue and display brute strength beyond anything a human should have been able capable of. Could this be the Mystical Monkey Power that Monty always raved about? As a geneticist, Warmonga hadn't paid much attention to mystic claims but she could hardly refute her own experiences.

Warmonga wracked her brain, trying to remember everything that Monty had told her about his obsession. She remembered something about four jade statues, which was probably another radiation source. She also remembered him talking about the need to practice some sort of martial art. Finally, she recalled him talking about the power choosing its host. Perhaps behavior had something to do with the power. If that were the case, the best candidate would be someone who had experienced a childhood similar to Stoppable's. Like a sibling?

Warmonga gasped. How obvious could it have been, without her seeing it? At roughly the same time that Stoppable started to manifest his enhanced abilities, he acquired an adoptive sister! Could someone be trying to emulate his life experience, in an effort to produce someone else capable of wielding this power? Scattering papers in her wake, the green behemoth jumped to her feet and leapt across her office to the U.S. map that adorned one wall.

It would be so easy to make a quick trip to Middleton and seize the child! What was even better was that Stoppable would be attending college, out of town, later this year. All she had to do was wait a couple of months and the child would be easy pickings!

Suddenly, Warmonga frowned. Such a kidnapping could, potentially, warn Shego that something was up. No, she would have to move against both of her enemies at the same time, and that meant waiting for Shego to give birth and for Stoppable to leave for college. Since Shego would give birth sometime during the summer, next year, Warmonga would be forced to wait until Stoppable returned to school, next fall. For a moment, the delay grated on the geneticist, but she quickly put things back into perspective. She didn't even know where to find Shego and Willie was too much of a trustworthy crook to give up her location. This delay actually worked in Warmonga's favor, giving her time to locate Shego, scope out Stoppable's routines and make preparations for raising, and exploiting, the children.

"Enjoy your idyllic lives while you can," she grumbled to her non-present antagonists. "When the time is right, I strike! After that, nothing will prevent me from taking my revenge on the two of you."

* * *

_A/N: _

_Again, I must thank everyone who has taken the time to read this little, twisted tale. My fondest thanks are to Joe Stoppinghem, for taking the time and effort to beta read for me. _

_Until my next update, best wishes;_

_daccu65_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

"So, Frau Senior, we meet at last," Professor Dementor gloated to his newest test subject. "Mien daughter explained your situation to you on the way here, no? Now, are you ready to be cooperative?"

"Y-y-yes," Camille answered, completely intimidated. The former heiress was completely out of her depth. She didn't even have a good idea where she was located. All she knew was that she had been hustled, blindfolded, out of some aircraft and into some building. She had been allowed to sleep for a few hours before receiving a fairly good breakfast, a chance to shower, and some clean clothes.

"Very good," the professor smirked. "I assure you that this will not be painful. We're simply going to have you display some of your morphing abilities, so you will have no difficulties, yes?"

"I-I-I guess not," Camille stammered.

"Excellent! Now, kindly sit in the chair behind you," here, Dementor gestured to a chair, which was adorned with monitoring equipment. "Once you are in the chair, I will take some readings. After this, I will have you morph into an alternate form. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Very good. Please be seated."

"No."

"Okay, now I am having trouble understanding what we just discussed. Didn't you say that you would be cooperative?"

"Yes," Camille retorted. "But you said it wouldn't hurt."

"I assure you, Frau Senior, that this procedure is totally non-invasive."

"I don't know what that means, but I'm not sitting in that chair," Camille huffed, crossing her arms in front of her.

"It means that it won't hurt you in any way!" Dementor roared. "Now, tell me why you won't cooperate with me like you told me you were going to!"

"Hello! I'm wearing a neon orange jumpsuit and you want me to sit in a spring-green chair, with metallic accessories?"

"They're called instruments!"

"WHAT-ever! It's not fashion friendly! Do you have any idea what the fashion experts are going to say when they see pictures of me, wearing this, sitting in that?"

"Okay, I'm not understanding this again," Dementor confessed. "How are these fashion people ever going to see you sitting in that chair, when you are inside a SECURE LABORATORY, INSIDE A HIDDEN LAIR!!?"

"Don't be shouting at me, mister. You have cameras on that chair, I've seen them."

"Of course, I must record the procedure for further analysis."

"See! You're recording it. As soon as that footage gets leaked onto the internet, I'm doomed!"

"Doomed, you say? Has it occurred to you that you are defying a master criminal in his own stronghold, surrounded by his minions!?"

"Minions, ha! Have you ever had Elsa Cleeg critique your wardrobe? **That's** brutal!"

"You just might find out the definition of the word bru..." Dementor ranted, only to be interrupted by Hendle.

"Boss," the burly guard whispered into his ear. "I know we've got her and Senior might not even want to track her down, but why damage her if we don't have to? If we injure her and Senior finds out, maybe, just maybe, he'll give us some trouble. Not only that but she's the only test subject in the world. How hard can it be to get some different colored clothes?"

"Eh? Okay, good point," Dementor nodded to his employee. "Very well, Frau Senior, you drive a hard bargain! I will concede to your demands...this time! Now, what color clothing do you want?"

"Well, am I going to be sitting in that chair?"

"Of course."

"Okay, I was thinking of something in sapphire blue, with a nice belt. I mean, this suit hardly compliments my figure. Now, I'm also going to need some heels and the proper earrings."

Professor Dementor dropped his head into his hands before instructing Hendle to find a pencil and some paper. This was going to be more involved than he thought.

* * *

"Go, Wade!" Kim answered the Kimmuncator's call.

"Just thought I'd give you guys an update and check in," the boy answered. "First things first, how are the three of you holding up?"

"A little tired, but fine," Kim answered. "Senior's a real gentleman when he wants to be one. We managed a good night's sleep and Ron's making breakfast right now."

"Didn't Senior offer to provide meals?"

"He offered," Kim informed her young friend. "But Ron likes to do the cooking. Trust me, I don't mind it, either. Did you update our 'rents."

"Yep, your father made his usual black-hole threats, but he was chuckling even as he said them. How are you for mission gear? I could send some more if you need it."

"Senior has already had a couple additional sets made for us. We're good. Now, did you get any sleep? I know it must be the middle of the night there."

"You know me, Kim. When I get a challenge, I like to work on it."

"Okay, but I'm checking in with your mother when this is over. I don't want you doing another seventy-hour marathon."

"Okay, mom. Anyway, Trudy used a complicated series of accounts to disguise her location, but I think I've got her tracked down, to a certain extent. She appears to be located somewhere near the common border between the Kaliningrad Oblast, Lithuania and Poland."

"Okay, his usual mode of operation," Kim commented. "That has to be a politically sensitive area."

"It is, even if it's further east that Dementor usually works. I know that it isn't much to go on, but I'm narrowing down the search."

"How?"

"Okay, this is a secure channel and I scanned your quarters for bugs before you went to bed. Since Senior isn't listening in, I'll tell you. I'm hacking into public records and analyzing power consumption from the local grids and water consumption from the local utilities. If I can find consumption out of proportion with the local zoning, I'll have a better grip on his location. After that, a little satellite manipulation will pinpoint him."

"Okay, I'm not even going to guess how you can do all that, I'm just going to say that you rock. Anything else?"

"Yeah, your folks haven't had any luck with Upperton U with regards to your housing and athletic situations. I've poked and prodded at it, metaphorically speaking, and I haven't had any luck, either. Right now, both yours and Ron's parents are looking into finding you someplace to stay in Upperton." Here, the boy gave her a sly look. "They want a couple of places close to each other and close to the school. Any idea why they want the two of you in close proximity?"

"Mind out of the gutter, Wade. Our rents know that we'll be hanging with each other most of the time anyway. Anything else?"

"Not at this time, analyzing the power and water consumption is a tricky business. I could take me a couple of hours. I'll keep you updated."

"Thanks Wade," Kim concluded, then turned off her Kimmunicator. "Did you hear that?" She asked her boyfriend.

"Every word,' Ron, who was working over the range top, informed her. "That still tanks about the team sitch, but I guess we can't help it. I wonder if our rents can find us a place in the same building?"

"That would be nice," Kim smiled, thinking that that would be a great sitch.

"Okay, breakfast is served," Ron informed her, placing plates in front of both her and Rufus. "I know you must be disappointed that you're not eating Duff's haggis right now, but it's the best I can do."

"So not funny, Ron. I don't want to ruin your work by hurling on it."

"Actually, haggis tastes pretty good. It's just knowing what's in it that..."

"Stop!" She ordered. "No more descriptions! Let's just eat and give Senior an update."

Ron smirked as he started to eat. Kim made a mental note to pay him back for the comments that had her quivering as she ate her own food. After breakfast, the two teens and one rodent called upon Senior Senior Senior and were immediately ushered into his office. Senior was a professional and did not ask them how Wade intended to track Dementor. Instead, the old man started his own inquiries into the mad scientist's location and arranged for transportation to be standing by for the teens.

"Very well," the old man told them. "Since there is nothing we can do at this time but wait for our experts to do their jobs. Is there any way that I can extend my hospitality further?"

"Actually you can," Kim suggested, remembering Ron's haggis comments while she was trying to eat. "Do you have a gym or a dojo? The two of us could use a workout."

The next hour was a very long one for Ron. While he had gotten himself in Kim's league, fighting wise, he still wasn't at her level. While the redhead didn't inflict any real damage on him, in deference to the upcoming mission, she made it very clear that he should watch his grammar at the table. Since there wasn't a lot of action on the island at the time, Senior, Junior, Elisabeth and a large number of staff members had free time to watch Kim humble Ron. Finally, point proven, Kim called a halt and the impromptu audience applauded the demonstration.

* * *

Professor Dementor cackled with glee. True, it had taken a couple of hours, and Trudy's help, to find garments Camille was willing to wear in front of the cameras, but that had been time well spent. Although the changeling complained, she had submitted to morphing herself repeatedly. The best part was that she didn't seem to grasp the significance that Dementor requested she morph into forms that were either larger, or smaller, than her normal form.

The professor had graciously dismissed his prisoner while he reviewed his readings with his daughter.

"She clearly changed mass," Trudy declared. "Hendle weighs one hundred thirteen point six kilograms and her normal weight is forty seven point seven. When she morphed into Hendle's form, she bulked up to one hundred kilos. While that doesn't match Hendle's mass, it's still more than double her normal weight. She assumed the same volume that Hendle displaces, so her body mass was clearly not as dense." Trudy frowned, "does this suggest that she has a limit to the amount of mass she can acquire?"

"A worthy line of inquiry for another time," her father informed her. "For right now, let's contemplate her mass alterations. The thermometers and spectrometers inside the chamber did not detect a drop in temperature or light intensity. This leads me to believe that she is not drawing energy and converting it to mass."

"That's just as well," Trudy commented. "The energy needed to construct over one hundred kilos of matter exceeds the entire Northern European power grid's capacity. Could she be drawing energy from another source?"

"Doubtful," her father answered. "I, Professor Dementor, have spent the last two weeks and my considerable genius making that chamber as isolated, energy wise, as possible!"

While Trudy didn't like listening to her father extol his own virtues, she had to admit that he had done a good job isolating the testing chamber. The walls were made of thick concrete, sandwiched between layers of grounded steel. There were no lights in the room itself. Rather, long glass plates allowed light to flow in from another room. The only high-voltage electricity to be found in the room was from two outlets, which the professor could disconnect from outside the testing chamber.

"That's why you had her morph a second time, after you connected the outlets!" Trudy declared. "You wanted to see if she would drain power out of the grid when she gained mass!"

"Or if she would exhaust power into the grid when she shed mass," her father agreed. "As you can see, nothing!"

"So let's discard the notion that she's converting mass into energy and the other way around," Trudy suggested. "Where does that leave us?"

"She must be transporting mass onto and away from her body. Now, where does this mass come from and go to?"

"Could she be making use of the atmosphere?" Trudy asked. "You know, using the hydrogen and carbon atoms in the air to form human flesh?"

"Nein, not possible!" The professor gloated. "I was measuring the air flowing into and out of the chamber during her transformations. As you can see, when she gained mass, air flowed _**out**_ of the chamber. If she were converting the atmosphere to solids and liquids, air would have flown into the chamber, to make up for the mass increase. No, just enough air flowed out of the chamber to account for her increase in volume."

"And the opposite happened when she decreased her mass," Trudy concluded, reviewing the data on their screens. "The second question, could she have made use of other mass inside the chamber itself?"

"Nein, my daughter! Note that I constructed the chamber on top of a scale. The chamber itself increased in mass by the same amount she did. That means that mass came into the chamber from an outside location. Clearly, the mass did not come in via the atmosphere and it didn't come in via energy. What is left?"

"It must be...materializing...onto and off of her body," Trudy concluded. "And at her will. Congratulations, father, you've discovered a real example of teleportation."

"Ha! I knew there was something special about her morphing abilities! The next step is to determine if only certain mass appears and vanishes, and where it goes. Please _**invite**_ our _**guest**_ to return to the testing chamber. It is time to execute our next phase!"

* * *

"Mr. Stoppable, may I have a word with you?"

"Me? Are you sure that you wouldn't rather talk to KP?" Ron was shocked that Senior Senior Senior would want to speak to him.

"I would prefer to have a word between men," the elder smiled at the teen. Would you be so kind as to indulge me?"

"Of course," Ron answered. Soon, the two were seated in Senior's office.

"Mister Stoppable, I will not dally in getting to the point. You and Miss Possible have been more than generous by coming to my island and endeavoring to locate my lost daughter-in-law. Now, I have overheard a couple of your conversations in which you seem discontent about your higher educational status. Am I correct?"

"We're not looking for a handout," Ron informed him.

"I'm not saying that you are, Mr. Stoppable. Tell me the problem and perhaps I can bring a villain's perspective to bear. It will help distract me from my current situation." He listened intently as Ron described the concerns that kept Kim and him out of the dorms and thus, off of the athletic teams.

"Mr. Stoppable, after you and Miss Possible secured the Pan Dimensional Vortex Inducer, the reward money went into your educational fund. Surely you have sufficient funds to attend this institution until graduation."

"Yeah, we both do. It's just that I wanted to see if I could take my football to the next level. I want to prove that I'm not just some little flash in the pan."

"And you cannot join this team because you cannot live in housing owned by the University?" Senior asked. "And you cannot live in university-supplied housing, due to various university rules and concerns?"

"That sums it up," Ron grumbled.

"Interesting," Senior mused. "Mr. Stoppable, I believe I have a solution. Now, before you protest that you are not assisting me for personal gain, please look at this as an elderly, dying man doing a kind turn to the young people he has known. I assure you that my actions will not harm anyone in any way."

"What are you going to do?"

"Allow me to keep my secrets, Mr. Stoppable. You may be pleasantly surprised when you return to Middleton. Now, please return to your companion. I fear that if my son continues to request some form of sympathy, she will eventually rearrange his features. Perhaps if the two of you remain in close proximity, he will realize that Miss Possible simply will not provide such condolences."

As soon as Ron left the office, Senior called for his personal assistant. Shortly thereafter, one of Senior's employees contacted several realtors in Upperton, Colorado and Middleton High's Personnel Office.

* * *

"So, Frau Senior, our first session was a stunning success! Well, with some minor delays!" Dementor informed his prisoner.

"Whatever," Camille rolled her eyes. "Like, when can I leave? I'm sure my cat is missing me!"

"Continue to cooperate and you will soon be reunited with your husband," Dementor informed her.

"Yeah, I would kind of like to see him, too."

"Very well, here is what you will be doing. I have here several objects," Dementor produced a handful of rings. "Half of these rings will fit your fingers, right now. The other half will fit your fingers when you assume Hendle's form. You will put on one of these rings then morph, and see what happens to the ring."

"No way!"

"What? Is it painful for you morph when you are wearing constrictive jewelry?"

"It will be if I have to wear _**those**_!" Camille sneered at the objects in Dementor's hand. "I mean, those are thick, man-rings. I need the slim, feminine type, and look at the rings! I mean, who would be caught dead wearing them!"

"What's wrong with the rings?"

"They don't even have stones! They're just plain bands and they're ugly! I mean, what are they made out of?"

"Various substances!" Dementor snapped.

"I've never heard of various," Camille countered. "But this stuff isn't jewelry! I mean, this one looks like plastic!"

"It is!"

"I thought you said it was various? What does various look like?"

"Never mind, just put it on!"

"Plastic jewelry? I haven't worn plastic jewelry since...well...since ever! There's no way I'm wearing this!"

"If you don't I'll...." Dementor shrieked, then remembered that he couldn't risk damaging his only test subject. "Very well, what modifications will you require before you will don the items?"

In the end, Camille consented to the rings being painted to look like either gold or silver and fitted with false gemstones, made of glass. It took several hours, with Dementor grinding his teeth in frustration, before the modifications were complete. Finally, the experiments continued.

* * *

Warmonga contemplated her situation and realized that she was going to have to make some changes if she was going to achieve her goals. The first problem she had was the fact that she didn't have a group of trustworthy underlings to implement her commands. Sure, she had three very trustworthy technicians to monitor and operate her 'production tanks' but they were laboratory technicians, not enforcers. These technicians wouldn't be much use when it came time to seize Shego's kid.

Warmonga's second problem was her inability to simply leave her lair and integrate into normal society. While massive size, super strength and redundant organs were handy, they were hardly stealthy. Her inability to wander around, incognito, was beginning to grate on the geneticist. Add to this was the fact that she really wanted to make some first hand observations, but couldn't.

Finally, there was the fact that she didn't know where to find Shego. While Warmonga had a great deal of disdain for the hussy, she had to admit that she was a skilled criminal. Undoubtedly, Shego and Monty had found some group of criminals, somewhere, and were living under cover. Both Shego and Monty were capable of vanishing when they wanted and if they were actually having a child, they were probably going to take great pains to remain hidden.

Three problems: Three problems that seemed, at first glance, to be unsolvable.

Unless you were a genius.

In a few short months, Warmonga had gained a stranglehold on the greater Seattle area's narcotics trade. Vast wealth, tax free, was pouring in. This wealth formed the basis of solving her three problems.

Wealth would go a long way towards securing her some valued, trustworthy enforcers. Warmonga controlled her distribution through a combination of chemical dependency, intimidation and payment. As the weeks went by, she had found...other uses...for the rebellious gang members. Through a Darwinian process, a group of more tractable underlings had started to emerge. With more money and proper treatment, several of them should turn out to be loyal enforcers in time to move against the hussy.

Wealth would also help her solve her second problem. It hadn't taken Warmonga long to recreate her cutting-edge genetics laboratory, in a site separate from her production facility. In the past few weeks, she had finalized the proper genetics for yet another form. While she might miss the brute strength that her current form provided, the ability to blend in with society would be worth it. Of course, she had still managed to incorporate enhanced strength and endurance into the form. Warmonga's lips formed into a cruel smile, it was so ironic that her new form would bear such a strong resemblance to the hussy she so despised.

The final problem's solution was the best yet. While Warmonga couldn't track Shego, she suspected she knew somebody who could. Years ago, she had performed a combination of genetic manipulation and surgery to turn Lord Montgomery Fiske in to Monkeyfist. Since then, she had advanced her science by leaps and bounds. Would Aviarius be willing to locate Shego, in return for wings and the ability to fly? Warmonga was confident he would be willing to make the deal.

Ready to continue, Warmonga stripped, reclined upon a medical pallet, and activated an automated sequence. The highly advanced machinery around her connected IV tubes and monitoring probes, then hoisted her into one of her artificial wombs. Before long, her vision grew dim and she started to drift off. She smiled again, knowing that when she woke again, she would be wearing a new body.

One that wouldn't arouse suspicions when she applied for a job as Middleton High's newest science teacher.

* * *

"I've got him!"

Wade's declaration, bursting from the Kimmunicator, nearly caused both Kim and Ron to spit out mouthfuls of food.

"At the dinner table, Wade," Kim informed her friend. "Please give us a more quiet greeting. Ron almost wound up wearing my rigatoni."

"Sorry," Wade rubbed the back of his neck. "I thought you'd want to know that I tracked down Dementor."

"You rock, Wade," Kim replied. "I wonder if we can get to-go boxes."

Minutes later, Team Possible, accompanied by a select group of Senior's henchmen, were on one of Senior's aircraft heading northeast.

* * *

"The results weren't all that I hoped they would be," Professor Dementor admitted. "But they are still interesting."

"Indeed," Trudy reviewed the findings with her father. "It would appear that a few substances travel with Frau Senior's 'lost mass' when she morphs."

"Ferrous metals, organic substances and petroleum-based substances vanish with her mass, then reappear when the mass returns," Dementor confirmed. "It would also appear that if you attach such 'vanishing' materials to 'non-vanishing' materials, such a glass, the 'vanishing' material cannot make the trip."

"THAT'S why you 'accidentally' broke the glass stones off of some of the rings! You wanted to see if they prevented the rings themselves from relocating with the mass!"

"Ja," Dementor nodded, grimacing with remembered exasperation. "By that time, the Frau was too distracted to notice the stones were missing from the jewelry. There are still some details to work out, such as how much 'non-vanishing' material is needed to prevent a given amount of 'vanishing' material from making the trip with her mass. However, I still want to perform some additional, general experiments."

"Such as?" Trudy prompted her father.

"I want to see if some 'non-vanishing' material, such as non-ferrous metal, will still be able to follow her lost mass if it is encased inside her body. I postulate that if such material is surrounded by her living flesh, it may still be able to transfer with the mass."

"It sounds like the experiment could be painful...to her." Trudy smiled in anticipation.

"I fear I must disappoint you, at least for now. I shall take care to keep her undamaged...at least until I find out more. Now, it is time to invite her into the testing chamber for a third time."

* * *

_A/N:_

_Again, I must thank everyone who has read and reviewed this story. My biggest thanks go to my long-suffering beta, Joe Stoppinghem. _

_Until my next update, best wishes;_

_daccu65_


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Chapter 6

"Miss Possible, we will be over the target in a few minutes," the helijet's pilot called back.

"Very well, remember the plan. Ron, Rufus and I will parachute in, since we don't know exactly what we'll be running into. Land in the open field nearby and send in the henchmen. With any luck, we'll have rescued Camille and they'll just have to help us get her on board."

"Wilco, Miss Possible."

"Man, I'm just glad we were able to talk Senior into staying behind," Ron remarked, turning Kim so that he could check her parachute again. "He kept demanding that his honor required him to come along. I just wish we didn't have to tell him that he would endanger the mission."

"It was cruel but necessary," Kim sighed, returning the favor for her PF. "I'm a little steamed at Junior. Sure, it's only a marriage of convenience but Camille _**is**_ his wife. You'd think he'd want to come along."

"He wouldn't be able to hit on Elly if he did," Ron pointed out. "Of course, he would have probably spent most of the trip hitting on you."

"And gotten a hit of another sort," Kim finished. "I'm going to be so happy to get home. I wonder what Senior has planned to help us out of our housing ish."

"I don't know, but he assured me that it wasn't illegal."

"That's some comfort, time to fly!" With that, Kim leapt out of the aircraft. A moment later, Ron followed her, screaming in fear.

* * *

"It is time for the next step in the experiment, Frau Senior," Dementor sneered at his captive. "Here, things will get a little unpleasant."

"Like, how much longer am I going to have to keep this up?" Camille whined. "I mean, when am I going to have a chance to get my hair colored again?"

"What point is this hair coloring for a person who can change her hair's color at will?" Dementor's bluster was short-circuited by his curiosity.

"It's like, the process!" Camille insisted. "I like having the greatest stylists around working on my hair! It, like, shows that I'm worth it!"

"Oh for pity's sake," Dementor shook his head. "Never mind, Frau. You might want to brace yourself for this next step. I will have you morph into Hendle again, then I will pierce your abdomen with this gold pin!" Here, the mad scientist held up a needle.

"No!" Camille screamed in horror.

"Yes, Frau, it may be painful, but it is for science!"

"Oh, the pain isn't anything," Camille waved her hand. "I've had belly piercings before. I seem to lose them half the time I morph but they don't hurt that much."

"Then what is the problem? The pin is made out of gold, certainly you cannot protest that."

"I don't have a problem with gold."

"Then what is the problem?"

"It's this place!"

"What? Frau, I can assure you that this room is every bit as clean as an operating room. There will be no possibility of infection."

"What's infection?"

"Never mind, what is your problem with this place?"

"This isn't the place to get a body piercing! You're supposed to get your body piercings done in a trendy boutique, by a really cute guy. I mean, if anyone sees me getting a piercing here, from you, I'll never live it down!"

"So let me straighten this to be getting. This lair isn't stylish enough and I'm not cute enough to conduct scientific experiments?"

"Not if it involves a body piercing."

Professor Dementor stood stunned for over a minute.

* * *

"Okay, this was some sort of a secure facility back during the Cold War," Wade informed the Team Possible field operatives. "I haven't been able to find any schematics so I downloaded my ground penetrating radar results into the Kimmunicator. It's the best I could do."

"You rock, Wade," Kim assured him. "You're giving us a whole lot more than we could have expected. We're going in."

Just as Kim, Ron and Rufus approached the lair's door, a horrendous shriek sounded from inside. Kim burst into a sprint, determined to halt whatever horrible torture was taking place inside. Before she could reach the door, it flew open and Professor Dementor himself burst out.

"With it I have had!" He screamed at the top of his lungs. "I can deal multi-reality physics, electromagnetic fields and warped gravitational anomalies but with spoiled rich girls, I CAN NOT DEAL!"

The undersized master criminal looked around and spotted the team. "The two of you, you are here to recover Frau Senior, yes?"

Kim and Ron could only nod, dumbfounded.

"THEN ARREST ME AND TAKE HER AWAY FROM HERE! Better yet, I'll go turn myself in while you return her to her husband, yes?" Without waiting for a reply, Dementor spun and ran away as fast as his short legs could carry him.

"Uh, KP?"

"Yes, Ron?"

"Should we chase him? I mean, he is a wanted criminal."

"I don't think so," Kim mused. "The mission is to recover Camille. Let's not get distracted."

"Okay, are we going to have to fight our way through Dementor's henchmen?"

"No," Trudy informed the teens, stepping out of the lair. "You're more than welcome to her as long as you take her away."

"You realize that we can't just let you get away with kidnapping," Kim stated.

"Actually, I think you can," Trudy countered. "Think of it this way. Right now, we'll turn Frau Senior over to you without a struggle. I don't think you have any proof that we actually kidnapped the Frau, so you don't have the authorization to apprehend us. Besides, if things turn violent, you always take the chance that you'll fail in your mission."

"Okay, deal!" Kim agreed.

"Thank you," Trudy replied.

"Thank you? For what?"

"For taking that irritating airhead away from here."

"Hey, you're here!" Camille exclaimed, stepping out of the lair escorted by Hendle. "Did Junior send you?"

"The Seniors sent us," Ron answered, diplomatically. "Our ride should be landing now, about a half-mile away."

"I have to walk that far?" Camille whined.

"We'll be more than happy to give you a ride," Trudy informed her former prisoner. "It's the least we can do."

"Why are you being so friendly, now that I'm leaving?"

"Trust me," Trudy grinned. "You seem like a much nicer person when you're leaving than when you first arrived."

* * *

Epilogue, mid-August in Upperton.

"I think that's everything, kids, now behave yourselves," Dr. James Possible handed the last box to his daughter. "Ronald, I want you to remember that my brother and Dr. Renton can free up enough space in the next comet probe to accommodate a passenger."

"Daddy!" Kim snapped.

"James!" Ann chided her husband. "Ronald has always been a gentleman around Kimberly."

"I'm just having some fun, kids," James admitted. "It was very generous of Senior to buy this house for you."

"Yeah," Ron admitted. "Who would have thought up the loophole he spotted? By buying it and donating it to the university, under the condition that the university allows us to live in it during freshman year, he figured out how to let us live in university-supplied housing while sidestepping the protests. I'm on the football team and Kim's on the cheerleading squad!"

"I'm willing to bet that he managed to use the donation as a tax writeoff," Mr. Stoppable added. "Now, I expect the two of you to study and practice hard. The first home game is in four weeks and we'll all be here to see how you're doing. If either of you fail to live up to expectations, either academically or on the field, I'll move in with you and keep and eye on you myself."

"Dad!" Ron protested. "We'll work hard, honestly! Besides, you can't just leave your job behind!"

"I'm and actuary Ronald, I can work anywhere."

"Don't let your fathers play you," Mrs. Stoppable instructed the two teens. "Remember that Middleton isn't very far away, so you can always come visit whenever you want. Now, why don't we leave so you two can finish settling in? Your chaperone will be here shortly and I'm sure you want a little alone time before she gets arrives."

"Mom!" Ron protested. After a round of hugs and good-byes, the four adults left their oldest children behind. Ann Possible noticed the poorly concealed smirk on her husband's face.

"Okay, James," she grilled her husband, once the adults had piled into her van for the trip home. "You seemed just a little too willing to let those two move into the same house. What's up?"

"Dear, is it so hard to believe that I've finally started to trust them, like the three of you have?"

"Yes it is," Ann countered. "Spill it James, what are you hiding?"

"Well, you know that the school is going to have one of its new staff members living with them, sort of a chaperone."

"I didn't understand that," Mrs. Stoppable cut in. "I thought that Dr. Phisley said that faculty and students weren't allowed in the same housing units."

"This chaperone is a new staff member, not a faculty member," James told his wife and friends. "Trust me, she's perfect for this job."

"Who is she?" Mr. Stoppable asked. "Besides, not to be suggesting anything but if Ronald and Kimberly decide to sidestep her, do you really think that any chaperone will be able to prevent them from...doing what they want to do?"

"Oh, she's a great deal more competent than you could believe," James informed his potential, future in-law. "Trust me on this, Kimmie and Ronald are going to behave themselves in that house."

* * *

"...and in international news, Professor Dementor, the cutting-edge physicist and international criminal who turned himself in to authorities last month, was convicted today." The television announced, prompting smiles from Kim and Ron. "Upon receiving his sentence, Dementor claimed that he was prepared to accept a prison sentence of any length, as long as he didn't have to associate with anyone who had inherited a great deal of wealth. On a more local note..."

"I wonder how long it will be before he escapes again," Ron grumbled, leaning back on the couch and draping an arm over his girlfriend's shoulders.

"I don't know," Kim confessed, leaning into her boyfriend's embrace. "I mean, he actually wants to stay in this time, so maybe the prison will hold him."

"KP, is it just me or have things been more that a little weird since we got back from Europe?"

"It isn't you," Kim retorted. "I don't know what's the weirdest. First, we get back to find that Senior found the loophole and set this house up for us. That was weird, but nice."

"Then we found out that your uncle is dating Felix's mom," Ron added. "That was weird and...well...just weird. How do you think they'll handle this now that Slim and Joss have gone back to Montana?"

"Probably better than Felix and Yori are handling being on opposite sides of the globe," Kim informed him. "Speaking of Yori and being on the other side of the globe, just what were you doing at Yamanouchi this past week?"

"A whole lot of running up and down the mountain," Ron answered, with a grimace. "As well as more morality debates and other training."

"So, you were learning more about channeling the MMP?"

"Mostly."

"So why did they have you running up and down the mountain?"

"Sensei informed me that he will be most disappointed if I don't make varsity and run all over Montana U this year. Anyway, I think the weirdest part was how easy your dad agreed to the two of us living in this house."

"We will have a chaperone," Kim reminded him.

"Still, don't you think it was a little out of character?"

"Now that you say so, yes. I mean, I think he trusts us more than he used to but he seemed to give in way too easy. Of course, he insisted that he pick out everyone's room, putting the chaperone's between ours."

"Speaking of the chaperone, when is she supposed to show up?"

"Nine o'clock tonight," Kim answered. "That's three hours from now."

"You know, KP," Ron drawled, theatrically rubbing his chin as if in deep thought. "Here we are, all alone in a house that's, for all practical purposes, ours. Practices don't start until the day after tomorrow, so we're kind of on our own right now."

"Gee," Kim replied, matching his tone. "How should we kill the next couple of hours? I mean, we've already eaten and we don't have any homework. The house is cleaned and we're all moved in."

"I have an idea," Ron whispered, huskily, as he shifted slightly on the couch, laying back and drawing the unresisting Kim on top of him.

"I'm beginning to get one, myself," Kim purred, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling herself up his body so that their lips could meet.

The sound of the front door banging open killed the budding mood, prompting the two teens to spring to their feet.

"Always be early, that's my motto," a gravely, yet vaguely feminine voice, announced from the front door.

"No, it can't be..." Kim groaned, as the two sprang apart. A heavy tread sounded from the hallway, announcing the arrival of...

"Ms. Hatchet!?" The two teens gasped.

"That's right," she announced. "Some benefactor is paying my wage to act as head librarian for Upperton U, this year. That same benefactor provided Middleton High with a sizable donation in order to keep my job available for me, after this year. I don't know everything, but I can tell that the whole idea was to make me available to keep you two under control in this house. So, I want the two of you to keep one thing in mind."

"What's that?" Kim asked.

"As a lifelong librarian, I can hear a flake of dandruff landing on a deep-shag carpet from a hundred paces away. Think about that before either of you tries to sneak by my door on the way to the other's room. I don't think we're going to have any problems with the two of you behaving in this house. Now, help me with my bags."

"Oh, and Mr. Stoppable?" Ms. Hatchet caught Ron by the shoulder as he trudged off to grab some of her luggage.

"Yes, Ms. Hatchet?"

"We never had the chance to discus you introducing an unapproved book into my library, back in high school. Trust me, we will be discussing that incident, in depth, sometime this year."

* * *

Vice-Principal Steve Barkin took a great deal of pride in his professional demeanor but he had to admit that he was having some trouble maintaining he proper bearing in front of his latest interviewee. It's not that he was out of control around the ladies, just that this particular potential teacher had an appearance that appealed to him.

"I don't mean to pry," he told the young woman. "But you look somewhat familiar. Have you been to Middleton before?"

"No," the potential science teacher answered. "But I get the comment all the time. Apparently, I bear a strong resemblance to Shego, the woman who used to assist Dr. Drakken, before they both vanished."

"Ah, you do, indeed. You realize that Kim Possible, Dr. Drakken's greatest nemesis, graduated from this institution just last year?"

"Yes," she answered with an alluring smile. "I understand that this might make things a little awkward, but I'm willing to try."

"Very well," Mr. Barkin commented, reviewing her resume. "Your education is most impressive..." here, he gave his guest a prompting look.

"I prefer to be addressed as Miss Go," she supplied. "At least in a professional setting."

"Miss Go," Mr. Barkin repeated. "Like I said, your resume is most impressive. What teaching positions do you see yourself assuming?"

"As you can see, I've specialized in genetics so while I'm most at home in a Biology Classroom, I'm perfectly capable of teaching any science class. I'm willing to teach Basic Science, Biology, Chemistry and Physics on a regular basis. I'm also willing to substitute teach math classes. However, I'm not going to be much use teaching other subjects." Miss Go gave her potential colleague a shy, yet alluring smile. "I'm afraid I didn't pay much attention to creative writing and government."

"That's perfectly all right," Barkin informed her. "We're looking for a science teacher, not a social studies teacher. Now, I'd like to ask you a question about your motivation."

"Motivation?"

"Yes, it's obvious to me that you could make a very good living in the genetics field. As intelligent as you are, you've obviously checked the standard pay for a first-year high school teacher in Colorado. Why are you turning your back on the potential wealth in order to teach?"

"Mr. Barkin..."

"Steve, when there are no students present."

"Steve, I'd like to say that money isn't relevant to me but that would be a partial lie. I have an...alternative source of income. This allows me to pursue my other goals without worrying about money."

"You're honest, I appreciate that. Well, let me be the first to welcome you to Middleton High School." The big man stood and offered her his hand, both to shake her hand and to help her to her feet. "Teachers' orientation is Monday and classes start a week after that."

"Thank you, Mr...Steve."

"By the way, why did you choose Middleton? With your education, you could pick almost any place in the country."

"Oh, I have a few connections to the area and there are some people in the community who I'm looking forward to getting to know a whole lot better."

* * *

_A/N: And that's my tale, folks. Yes, I know that I ended on a cliffie but I fully intend on writing a fifth story in this arc. It may take awhile, as real life has been imposing upon me. _

_I'd like to thank Joe Stoppinghem for beta-ing this story, even after the 'brain-soap' moment in my previous story. Thanks Joe._

_I'd also like to thank everyone who took the time to read. It was a fun story to write and the encouragement I received through reviews and PM's was very welcome. _

_Thanks again, everyone and until we meet again, best wishes,_

_daccu65_


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